Lying Eyes
by joykatleen
Summary: A serial rapist is hunting women in the tristate area, leaving little to go on. But after finding a connection to one of the agency's own, it will take everything the team has to catch the criminal and save themselves. NOW BACK ONLINE.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: The initial idea for Lying Eyes was inspired by the NCIS Episode "Bloodbath," written by Donald P. Bellisario, Steven D. Binder, and Don McGill. I appreciate and acknowledge the inspiration.

Additional Note: Since the risk of theft from known corners seems to have passed (and since despite my best efforts, I couldn't figure out how to publish this in real life) I've decided to repost this story. Nothing has changed, so if you read it when it was first up, you're welcome to re-read and comment again, but don't expect anything new. I've just had so many request for it lately, I figured I might as well.

On with the story...

* * *

**Lying Eyes**

**Prologue and Part One**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a ceiling she'd never seen before. She puzzled at it for a moment, then slowly turned her head. It felt like the air had somehow thickened, and she had to fight to move through it. A nightstand beside her, a lamp, a clock radio, and a phone. And beyond that, another bed. A hotel room?

That made no sense. She hadn't slept in a hotel since senior class trip to Florida. Since then, it had been barracks and racks and…

She sat up, biting back a moan at how much that hurt. Two realizations hit her: She was naked, and she'd been beat up. Grabbing at the bedsheet to cover herself, she looked around the room. She saw no one. She felt no one. She was alone.

Her clothes were in a pile on the chair. Civilian clothes. Dress-up clothes. The first time she'd been able to dress up since…

They'd gone to a nightclub. It wasn't her usual thing, but her shipmates wanted to go. There'd been a man there. A Marine. He had such nice eyes. She was usually kind of shy, but he'd put her at ease, so she let him buy her a drink. And another. Then…

She slid to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet with her. God she was hurting. A tear made its way out of one eye. She remembered being at the club. Meeting the Marine. Sharing drinks. Then? Nothing.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she squinted, blinked, and her eyes widened. 4:27. Damn. Curfew for enlisted sailors was oh-two-hundred. If the clock was right, she was in so much trouble.

Biting her lip against the pain, she got up, hobbling across to her clothes. She dressed as quickly as she could. She felt dirty. The beating had made her bleed, and there was something sticky on her thighs… her mind shied away from that. But there wasn't time to clean up. She had to report back.

Her purse was there, her wallet and cell phone inside. She thought about calling for help. She had no idea where she was. There was an address on the bedside phone. At least she was still in Norfolk. There was a sticker with the number for a taxi company on the hand set. She called it.

Outside, the cool night air cleared her head a little. She still felt like she was too heavy: like she'd gained 50 pounds since she left her ship. She leaned against a lamp post and waited.

The taxi came, took her to Norfolk Naval Shipyard. She stumbled up the gangway of the USS Ronald Regan, headed for the checkpoint, ID in her trembling hand. The deck officer saw her lurching up the ramp and shook his head. Drunk, and almost three hours past curfew. This was one sailor who was going to regret having just one more. Then he noticed the way she was limping, the too-stiff way she moved. She wasn't just drunk, she was hurting too. He called for a corpsman.

The ship's physician found clear evidence of a beating. Possible signs of sexual assault. The girl was confused, claimed not to remember anything after meeting a Marine at a local bar. No, she didn't know the Marine, couldn't remember his name. Her blood was tested for drugs and alcohol: Drug screen negative, blood alcohol at .04. Not drunk, but still unstable and confused. A nurse documented her injuries, the shipmates she'd gone out with were woken and interviewed. Two of them said she'd left the bar around midnight with a Marine. She didn't remember.

Not drunk, no drugs, assaulted and maybe raped, no memory of any of it. To the doctor, it added up to one thing: she'd been the victim of something nasty. Time to call the cops.

Part 1

The case had been hounding the agents of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service for three weeks. Six women – four civilian, two military – had been drugged and raped after meeting men at six different bars in D.C. and Northern Virginia. There was no useable DNA left behind, precious little forensic evidence, no witness statements specific enough to create a profile. The only thing that tied the cases together was that all the victims were brunette, and there was a similar, if very general, suspect description: white, over six feet, strong build, early 30s, military appearance and bearing, claimed to be a Marine. Had nice eyes. He chatted up women at bars, bought them drinks, left with them. No one remembered any of the women appearing distressed, no one had a more specific description of the man each of the women had left with. NCIS had been notified as a courtesy when the first victim mentioned to the DC Metro police that her rapist had said he was a Marine. When the second and third victims – both attacked in Virginia – also mentioned this fact, the Virginia State Police invited NCIS to consult. When the fourth victim, raped at a hotel in the District, turned out to be a Naval Petty Officer, the cases were consolidated and turned over to NCIS. Frankly, the local agencies were glad to give them up: there just wasn't anything to go on. Even composite sketches from the victims weren't in agreement on much more than skin color and brush cut. And his nice eyes.

Since NCIS took the case, two more victims had come forward, one military, one civilian. Speculation was that there could be many more who were too embarrassed or traumatized to report the rapes, or who simply didn't remember. The date-rape drug GHB had been found in the blood of the four women who'd reported the crime immediately. Forensics had made an 89 percent match of the formulation of the drug in each of the four samples, making it a near certainty that the attacker was the same. The blood of the other two victims was clean, but one of the victims had waited two days before reporting the incident, and the other almost a week. In both cases, any drug that might have been there was long gone.

The victims themselves remembered being at clubs or bars, meeting a man who claimed to be a Marine, having drinks with him. It was from them that the general description of their suspect had come. Three of the six remembered leaving with him: two of them admitted they were headed to motels, the third just said they were going somewhere more private. The other three victims' memories of the night stopped while they were still at the bar and didn't resume until they woke up at motels, usually hours later.

NCIS was the Navy's law enforcement arm. Unlike the Army and Air Force equivalents, NCIS was made up of civilian agents under a civilian director who answered directly to the Secretary of the Navy. The agency's Major Case Response Teams were made up of three to five agents who specialized in investigating felonies committed by and against members of the Navy and Marine Corps and their families. Along with a medical examiner and a forensic scientist, they handled every aspect of the case starting with witness and suspect interviews and evidence gathering and crime scene analysis, to case-building, suspect interrogation and arrest. Their jurisdiction was based on identity of the parties rather than geography or nature of the crime, making them unique among civilian armed federal agencies. Only a few field response teams worked out of agency headquarters aboard the Washington Navy Yard. Most agents assigned there were in supervisory or analysis roles, helping to oversee the entire spectrum of NCIS's mission. The squadroom consisted of three loosely divided work areas, each the purview of a senior field agent and his or her team members. The most senior of these agents was Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant and 16-year veteran of the agency. Together with his team of three agents, he had the best clearance rate in modern NCIS history. Which is why, when the serial rape case was turned over the NCIS, it landed on Gibbs' desk.

The most recent attack had been two nights earlier. A young Naval Petty Officer on an evening's liberty had reported back to her ship several hours past curfew, bloodied and dazed. She told the corpsman on board that she'd gone out with a few shipmates to a nightclub in Norfolk, met a man who said he was a Marine, had a few drinks with him, then woken up in a motel room a few miles from the shipyard, naked and battered. She claimed to remember nothing more about the night's events. The corpsman treated her injuries and gave her a blood test, which came up negative for controlled substances. He'd forwarded the sample to NCIS, where Forensic Scientist Abby Sciuto found a traceable quantity of GHB that matched their suspect formulation. Gibbs had taken the sailor's statement himself, but it offered nothing new. If this was the same guy, this was the first time he'd been physically violent, and that was worrisome. Once he crossed that line, he wasn't likely to go back.

Abby had spent Tuesday going over the Petty's Officer's clothes and the other assorted samples they'd collected, and Gibbs hoped she'd found something. God knew witnesses weren't going to solve this one.

A 40-ounce plastic cup of Caf-Pow in one hand, coffee in the other, Gibbs stepped off the elevator outside Abby's lab in the first basement of headquarters. He frowned. Something was wrong. Abby was a strange girl who ran her lab in her own strange way. There was always music playing in the background, sometimes at ear-splitting levels. She tended toward death metal, punk, head-banger stuff that Gibbs couldn't stand, but went well with her Goth lifestyle.

He'd gotten used to wishing for ear plugs on arrival outside Abby's lab, which is why he was first surprised, and then concerned, when he heard no music at all. He moved into the room and his eyes widened. Abby was nowhere in sight, but a redhead in a lab coat was crouched in front of one of the tall cupboards, pulling things out seemingly at random.

"Can I help you with something?" he said firmly. The woman spun on her heel while trying to stand, nearly losing her balance in the process. Making no move to steady her, Gibbs looked her up and down. Navy, in uniform blouse and skirt, First Lieutenant, long red hair tied in a bun, pretty. No, gorgeous. He mentally smacked himself in the back of the head and refocused.

"Who are you and where's Abby?" he demanded.

"Sorry, sir. First Lieutenant Claire Hanson. I'm filling in for a couple of days, from Norfolk."

"Where's Abby?"

"I don't know, sir." She cringed at his glare. "I got a call early this morning telling me to report here. I've been TOD'd to run your forensics lab for a few days." Gibbs frowned. This was wrong. Abby had never, in all the time Gibbs had known her, called in sick. She would never trust her lab to a stranger.

"From who?" Gibbs asked.

"Sir?" Hanson asked, puzzled.

"Don't call me sir. Who called you?" he reiterated.

"Cynthia. She's Director Shepard's…"

"I know who she is. Stand there. Don't move." He set the Caf-Pow on the counter and flipped open his cell, speed-dialing Jenny Shepard's office. The Director's assistant put him through immediately.

"Why is there a Navy First Lieutenant making herself at home in Abby's lab?" he asked when Jenny answered.

"Good morning to you too, Special Agent Gibbs. Abby's down with the flu, she'll be out a few days. I didn't think you'd want your forensics sent to the FBI lab for the rest of the week, so I called over to Norfolk for a substitute. She came very highly recommended."

"I'm sure. Abby called you?"

"She sent me an e-mail. She sent you one, too. Didn't you get it?" Gibbs ignored the smug grin he could hear over the cell. He had a well-known tendency to not check email unless he was expecting something. He hated computers. Hated most technology, truth be told. If people needed him, they'd call.

"So you haven't talked to her yourself?" he asked.

"Yes, I have, Jethro. When I got the e-mail, I called her at home, to be sure she was alright. She sounded terrible. I offered to bring her some soup, which she declined. I explained all this in the e-mail I sent you. I don't suppose you got that one either?" He could hear grin bordering on a laugh and snapped the phone shut.

"Don't get comfortable," he told the Lieutenant. "Did Abby leave anything about what she found on the rape victim's clothes?"

The woman took a few steps across the room, picked up a file folder and held it out to him. He set his coffee down next to the Caf-Pow and flipped it open. He couldn't read it. He patted his breast pocket for his reading glasses. Negative. Tucking the folder under his arm, he grabbed both drinks and turned away without another word. As he passed the trash, he dumped the Caf-Pow. He'd brought it for Abby, long ago discovering that a little bribe went a long way with her, and the super-caffeinated beverage was her favorite. The lieutenant didn't look like the Caf-Pow type.

The other three agents on Gibbs' team all had something to say as he got off the elevator on the third floor, but Gibbs waved them off. He handed the case file to his second-in-charge Anthony DiNozzo. "Read this. See what Abby found."

"Abby didn't tell you?" asked Tim McGee, the newest agent on their team.

"Abby's out sick." Gibbs sat at his desk and opened his e-mail. There, among the 29 unopened messages, was one from Jenny, and one from Abby. He opened Abby's. It was as Jenny had said: She had the flu, wouldn't be in today, maybe not for the rest of the week.

Gibbs opened his phone again, dialing Abby at home. It rang five times, then voicemail.

"Hey Abby, Gibbs. Call me when you can. I'm worried about you." He shut his phone, then looked up to see his team staring at him.

"What?" he said, reviewing what he'd said. He was worried about her. "Don't you have something to do?" They snapped to, and Gibbs smothered a smile. Nice to be in charge.

The phone rang in his hand and he answered. Another woman had called 9-1-1 reporting being raped by someone matching their MO. Metro DC Police had responded and found her in a motel room, the scene of the crime. There might be forensics. He got the details and hung up.

"Gear up, we've got another victim," he said. "And a fresh crime scene."

* * *

The crime scene, witness interviews, and what was supposed to be a new lead on an old case but turned out to be nothing, kept Gibbs and his team hopping the rest of the day. He didn't get back to his desk until well after business hours. There had been no call from Abby on his cell, and as he settled into his desk chair, he wondered why. He checked his office voicemail, nothing from her. He checked his e-mail. There was something. "Hi Gibbs, thanks for calling. I'm sick, sick, sick, but it's just the flu. Hope to see you Monday. Be nice to the temp. Love, Abs."

Odd, but then so was Abby. She was probably just sick, like she said. But it bothered him that she hadn't called back. He flexed his shoulders forward, stretching his back, and reached under his desk to surreptitiously rub at the worst of his two bad knees. He was older than he'd like to be, and some days he felt every minute of it. Though he was in great physical shape for a man of his age – something over 40 and under 60, and no one dared ask him to be more specific – sometimes he just got tired. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together behind his head, stretching. As he relaxed, he ran his hands over his silver-gray hair, thinking it was about time for a cut. He was getting a bit shaggy. By Marine standards, anyway.

"Anything else for today, Boss?" Gibbs looked at DiNozzo over the top of his glasses. His second was looking a little ragged, and eager to go home. At least Gibbs wasn't the only one who wished the day was over.

"You hear anything from Abby since this morning?" he asked.

"Not a word, Boss," DiNozzo said.

"McGee?" Gibbs called. The team's junior agent had his head down on his desk and jumped up.

"Nothing," McGee said, looking guilty. After several years as a computer tech at the Norfolk office, McGee had become a field agent less than two years before. He hated to be caught seeming weak or not up to the task. It seemed like he was in a constant state of fear that he might be sent back.

"Me either," Ziva David – an Israeli Mossad officer on loan to the agency and the final member of Gibbs' team – piped up without being asked. "What's wrong, Gibbs?"

"Probably nothing. You guys go on home. I'll see you in the morning."

"You sure, Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"Get out of here before I change my mind." Almost as one, the three of them hustled to gather their gear and get out.

Gibbs called up to the Director's office. Cynthia was long gone, but Jenny was still at her desk. He told her he'd be up.

"How bad was the latest victim?" Jenny asked when he pushed through her door. The first female director of an armed federal agency was sitting behind her large desk, glasses on, papers spread out around her. She and Gibbs had been partners a long time ago, and for awhile, lovers. He still sometimes got a funny feeling in his solar plexus on seeing her like this: her short red hair styled professionally but not severely, her clothes expensive, feminine yet business-like, an air of authority hanging around her thick enough to cut with a knife. She had come so far since he'd taken her on as a probationary agent so many years ago. It didn't bother him that she was now his boss, but sometimes he liked to try and forget.

"Beaten pretty badly. Couple of broken bones. She's at Bethesda. Doctor says she'll physically recover. Emotionally will be harder."

"Anything more on the suspect?"

"Maybe. Some fibers that didn't match anything on her or in the room. But they might have come from anywhere. It was a motel room. The temp worked them up." He shook his head, clearly indicating what he thought about that. Jenny stepped over to her sidebar and offered Gibbs some bourbon. He nodded. She poured two fingers worth into each of two tumblers and brought them over.

"Give her a chance, Jethro. I'm told she's very good." She handed him one of the glasses.

"I'm sure she's a wonder. Did you hear from Abby again today?" He sat in one of Jenny's guest chairs. She took another facing him.

"She called around 4:00. Said she was keeping down fluids, but still felt bad. Still didn't want visitors."

"She sound strange?" he asked. Jenny frowned.

"Strange how?"

"I don't know. I left her a message, she didn't call back. Sent me an e-mail instead." He sipped the bourbon. It was smooth, high quality, as always.

"She probably didn't feel up to talking," Jenny said. "But no matter how sick she is, she's still likely to be near her computer." When Gibbs didn't go on, Jenny prompted him.

"What's wrong, Jethro?"

"Something feels wrong."

"Your gut?" Gibbs smiled ruefully. The reliability of his gut feelings had reached near-mythical status at NCIS over the years. He certainly trusted his gut, but it amazed him sometimes that so many of his colleagues did too.

"Maybe. It's not like her, to call in sick. And then not returning my call. Something feels wrong," he repeated.

Jenny looked at her watch, then picked up her phone. She dialed, waited, then smiled.

"Hi Abby, it's Jenny Shepard. How are you feeling?" She listened for a moment. Gibbs motioned for the phone, and Jenny held up a finger. Wait.

"Gibbs called you earlier." Pause. "He'd really like to talk to you. He's here now, if you're up to it." Another pause while Jenny rolled her eyes.

"He's not going to like it if you don't talk to him, Abby. Just give him a minute, okay?" She waited, nodded, then handed the phone over.

"Hey Abs, you alright?" he asked.

"Sick, Gibbs. Light headed, dizzy, throwing up, and out the back…"

"I get it, Abby," Gibbs cut her off. "Can I bring you anything?"

"No, I'm okay. I'm sure I'll be fine in a day or two."

"Alright. You need anything, you know where to find me."

"Yup. Talk to you later." She hung up, and Gibbs handed the phone back. He took another sip of bourbon.

"Well?" Jenny asked. Gibbs shrugged.

"She says she's sick. She sounds sick."

"But?" Jenny prompted again.

Gibbs shook his head. "It's probably nothing. I'll see you tomorrow." He drained the rest of the glass and set it on Jenny's desk before shoving his six-foot frame upright. His knee gave a twinge. He was going to have to ice it tonight if he planned on walking without a limp tomorrow.

"You alright, Jethro?" Jenny called.

"Just getting old, I guess. Have a good night." He left, Jenny staring after him.

Downstairs, Gibbs packed up his briefcase and headed out. He reviewed the short conversation with Abby, looking for… what? Something wasn't right, he could feel it. But what?

* * *

To Be Continued

Feedback Welcome… here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	2. Chapter 2

**Lying Eyes Part 2**

**By joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

Gibbs tried Abby a couple more times through the end of the week and over the weekend. Each time he got voicemail, and each time he left a message for Abby to call him back. He got no return calls.

They were on call over the weekend, but it was a quiet one. Their only response had been on Saturday afternoon to participate in the search for the missing four-year-old daughter of a Marine returning from Iraq at a Norfolk Homecoming. There was a fear, after securing and searching the entire dock area, that the girl might have been kidnapped, or fallen into the Harbor. Thankfully, they found her six hours after she went missing, lost and terrified on board the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The Supercarrier was undergoing planned repairs and was docked next to the ship her father had come in on. She'd told Gibbs, when he talked to her after she was reunited with her grateful parents, that she got bored with all the standing around after her Daddy came home, and she wanted to see where he worked while he was gone. When she'd seen enough and tried to get off, she couldn't find her way to the upper decks. She quickly grew frightened and hid in a crawl space. It was a happy ending, though Gibbs wondered how a little girl had managed to get on board a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier and remain there for six hours without being noticed by anyone.

Sunday night found Gibbs in his basement working on his boat. The 25-foot sailboat he was building without use of power tools provided him a very effective escape from almost everything. It was his favorite place to think, or to not think. He'd actually built three prior versions, but had burned them before completion after each of his three ex-wives left him. This one, started while he was single, felt like it might actually make it to the ocean.

In deference to the fact that his team was still on call, his cell was sitting on the workbench instead of buried in jars of hardware where he sometimes put it when he didn't want to be bothered. Just past seven, it rang. He glanced at the readout, saw it was Abby, and snapped it up.

"Abby, you alright?"

"Hi Gibbs. I'm better. I'll be in tomorrow. Sorry I haven't called you back."

"I've been worried about you, Abs. You don't usually call in sick." Gibbs leaned back against his workbench, focusing hard on Abby's voice, listening for things she might not be saying.

"Don't let Tony hear you say that. He doesn't think you worry about anyone," Abby said, and Gibbs thought he heard her smiling. "I was really bad sick. I could have come in, but it would have been ugly. Really, I'm better now."

"So what got you down?"

"Bad flu bug or something. I don't know. I'm better now." Gibbs frowned. Why did she keep saying that?

"You sure you're alright, Abby?" He tried one more time.

"Geez, Gibbs, what's got you so worried? Can't a girl take a couple sick days? I'm fine. Look, I'll see you in the morning and you can tell for yourself."

"Alright, Abs. I'll see you in the morning." He hung up. He tapped the phone against his forehead, thinking. He was probably over-reacting. She certainly sounded better than she had a couple days ago. But something still didn't feel right.

* * *

This time, as Gibbs approached Abby's lab, he had to smile. Rock music was blaring out of the lab, just the good side of painfully loud. That was better. He stepped in, but didn't see anyone.

"Abby!" he called. Abby popped up from the floor behind her computer consoles. As always, Gibbs had to stifle a grin at her ensemble. Abby was a Goth, and she loved to push the envelope with her wardrobe, though today she was somewhat subdued. Her jet black hair was in two pig tails coming out of the top of her head, her lipstick was black, and under her lab coat she was wearing a solid black cotton leotard, long sleeved and long legged, with a red and black plaid mini-skirt on top. A simple red collar circled her neck, unadorned red cuffs were around her wrists. There was a distinct lack of her usual metal.

If she wasn't so talented – not to mention so damn cute – no one at NCIS would allow her to flaunt the agency dress code to such extremes. It was, after all, a paramilitary organization. But she worked better when she was happy, and keeping Abby happy was one of Gibbs' higher priorities. The one time she'd been presented with an order to start abiding by the dress code, she'd gone into such a funk that Gibbs had had to shred the document in front of her to convince her it would be alright. Then he'd pulled a few strings, reminded the right people of what they owed him, and had the order rescinded.

"Gibbs! Hope you don't need anything from me for awhile, that temp really messed things up in here. It's going to take me all day to reorganize. Are those for me?" She held out her hands. Gibbs set his coffee down and took out from under his arm the plastic-wrapped bouquet of red and black roses he'd picked up on the way in. He handed her the flowers, and a Caf-Pow.

"Oh, wow. How sweet. Thanks, Gibbs." She smacked the drink down onto the counter and grabbed a large beaker, filling it with water from the sink and arranging the flowers.

"You got anything for me on the rape victim?" he called to her over the music.

"Didn't the temp tell you?" Abby asked over her shoulder.

"We had another victim on Wednesday. She worked up the evidence, but I was wondering…" She brought the flowers back to her computer console in the center of the room. The standing-height console held several computer set-ups with monitors that could be projected to the large plasma screen on the lab wall. Abby had Gibbs hold the flowers while she cleared a space to put them between two of the monitors.

"You were wondering if I'd found anything she didn't?" Gibbs smiled and touched his index finger to the tip of his nose. Got it.

"I'd planned on looking over her results, but I've got to get things back together first. I'll let you know."

"Alright. Glad you're back, Abs." He leaned in to kiss her head and was surprised when she shied away to sit in her chair. His feeling of 'wrongness' came back full-force. Abby was naturally demonstrative. She had never avoided contact with him, not even in the beginning. She picked up the Caf-Pow.

"Good to be back. Got things to do. I'll call you when I have something." She sucked on her drink, looking at him over her straw. When he didn't leave, she gave him a half-smile.

"What?" she asked.

"What's wrong, Abby?" he asked.

"Wrong? What do you mean, what's wrong?" She took a long pull on the drink, gaze bouncing everywhere but to his eyes. Gibbs said nothing.

"Why are you staring at me, Gibbs? I know I look a little pale, a little more pale than usual, and maybe my hair's a little, I don't know, off, but I've been sick, so I don't know what you'd…"

"Abby," Gibbs interrupted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Gibbs, I swear. I'm fine. I'm a little annoyed at that temp that messed up my lab, and maybe I'm still recovering a little from being sick, having the flu really sucks, I can't believe how sick I was, I mean…"

"Abby!" Gibbs stopped her again. "Look at me." She raised her gaze to finally meet his eyes. He stared at her for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. Her pupils were almost pinpoint.

"Are you taking drugs, Abby?" he asked slowly.

Her eyes widened and she looked shocked. "Drugs? Me? No way, Gibbs. Uh, uh. You know me, I don't take drugs." She shook her head emphatically.

"Pain killers, then. Schedule threes?" Gibbs asked, referring to the class of controlled but not restricted pain killers that included Vicodin and codeine.

She shook her head, but said nothing, taking another pull on her drink instead.

"Abby, why are you taking pain killers?" Gibbs asked. Abby frowned, still shaking her head, and turned away from him, facing her computers. She put her Caf-Pow down and started opening programs.

"It's nothing, Gibbs. I was out bowling, we were getting a little wild, and I must have pulled something. I was a little sore this morning, so I took a couple of Tylenols before I came in. I'm sure it'll be better soon." She started typing on the keyboard. Gibbs reached over her shoulders and stilled her hands, meeting her eyes in the reflection of the monitor in front of her.

"Abby," he said softly. "You were out bowling while you were sick? How about some truth?"

She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

"Leave it alone, Gibbs. Please? I just want to get to work."

He spun her chair around until she was facing him again.

"No, I won't leave it alone. Tell me what happened to you, why you're hurting. Why you don't want me touching you."

"I'm just sore. I must have hurt myself while I was bowling. That's all. I swear." But she wouldn't meet his eyes. He stared down at her for a moment, then sighed.

"If you won't tell me, you're going to have to tell Ducky," Gibbs said, referring to Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard, their medical examiner and occasional field medic. "He's going to check you out. Now."

"No way. I'm fine. The last thing I need is Ducky poking at me. He told me he hasn't had an autopsy in days. He'd just love to get his hands on a body, even a warm one. Maybe I should take another day, recover a little more." She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for just a second before sliding away.

"This isn't a suggestion, Abby. You're hurting and you won't tell me why. You will get checked out. That's an order."

"Wait a minute, Gibbs. You can't give me orders like that." She was going for indignant, but all Gibbs heard was scared, and it only firmed his resolved. Something was wrong.

"I just did. And if you don't like it from me, I'm sure you'll like it even less from Director Shepard."

"You wouldn't," she challenged.

"I would," he countered, and reached into his pocket for his phone. It rang as he put his hand on it.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he answered. He listened for a moment, then nodded.

"We're on the way." He snapped the phone shut and turned back to Abby.

"Saved by the bell. We've got a homicide." He laid his hand on the side of her face, making her look up at him. "I want you to go to the clinic while we're gone, get checked out. If you've got schedule threes on board, you can't work anyway. You might blow something up. Go to the clinic, see what they say, then you call me. Got it?"

"Fine. I will. You worry too much, Gibbs." She looked almost relieved.

"You'd miss it if I didn't." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I mean it, Abs. Go there now."

"I will. Geez, don't you have work to do?"

"I'll expect to hear from you." He moved swiftly out of the lab.

* * *

A mid-priced off-brand motel, modern architecture, attractive landscaping, clean, well-appointed rooms, a parking lot packed with emergency vehicles and wrapped in crime scene tape, a young woman dead in a room on the second floor. Virginia state troopers had secured the scene, located in an unincorporated area of Manassas near Battlefield Park. Gibbs got a quick briefing from the trooper in charge: The maid discovered the body and the manager called 9-1-1. Troopers responded, found her dead with signs of foul play, found her wallet complete with driver's license, credit cards, cash and Navy identification, and called NCIS.

Gibbs pulled on latex gloves, took the wallet from the trooper and glanced at the ID. Hospitalman Apprentice Natalie Pharris. She was just 19, ID issued less than eight months before. Probably her first liberty. He thanked the man, asked him to pull his officers back, then divided his team: Ziva to interview the manager about who'd rented the room, McGee to interview the maid who'd found the body and any other guests still present, DiNozzo to start the sketches and photos from the exterior. Gibbs went up to the room. He pulled paper shoe covers on over his boots to prevent evidence transfer and stepped through the doorway.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he had to sigh. The victim was lying on the bed, mostly on her stomach, one arm underneath her, the other over her head. Her head was turned toward the door, staring at him blankly. Her long dark hair was mostly pulled out of a pony-tail band, the length of it partially obscuring her neck and back. She was tiny, couldn't be more than five feet tall; thin but with well-defined muscles in her arms, legs and back. The blankets were piled on the floor at the foot of the bed, and she was wearing nothing but a white lace camisole pushed up toward her shoulders, matching panties wrapped around one ankle. There was a tattoo of a string of roses across the small of her back. She looked horribly exposed, and as he often did, Gibbs felt his instinct demand that he cover her nakedness, make her less vulnerable. As always, he quashed it. There were blood spots and smears on both items of clothing, on her legs, and on the sheet underneath her. She had been beaten, and bruises were almost black against the pale skin of her back and limbs. Gibbs noted her face seemed to have been spared. Ducky came up behind him looked over his shoulder, and Gibbs heard the medical examiner sigh, a near perfect echo of his own.

"She's just a child," Ducky commented. He pulled off his trademark bucket hat and put it in his pocket. He smoothed down his thick gray hair and adjusted his glasses. Ducky had been with NCIS almost 15 years. It was his retirement job: he'd had a full career with the British Navy before emigrating to the United States.

"19 years old. In the Navy less than a year," Gibbs said.

"Such a shame, Jethro, the things we humans to do one another."

Gibbs nodded, not replying. He scanned the room. No signs of struggle. Everything was neat and in order, except the blankets. At a casual look, no obvious evidence to collect. There were no suitcases, and no sign of the rest of the woman's clothes, not even her shoes. He saw nothing that wasn't native to the motel except a woman's purse lying on the table near the door. Gibbs decided to start there.

After taking pictures of the purse and its position on the table, Gibbs went through it. The purse contained the usual female detritus, nothing that caught his attention except a folded cocktail napkin. He opened it up: Red Rocks Café and Tequila Bar, Manassas. Nothing written on the napkin, no stains or marks. At least it gave them an idea of where she might have met her killer. Unless, of course, she had some other reason to be carrying an old cocktail napkin in her purse. Which was certainly possible: Gibbs was no expert on the ways of women, a point clearly proven by his three ex-wives.

Avoiding the bed and the body where Ducky was taking pictures, Gibbs moved around the room and into the bathroom, taking his own pictures as he went. Smudges on the taps and the mirror. Might be something, might be sloppy housekeeping. Toilet seat was down. Paper roll was fresh, Kleenex box with the top sheet still folded like he'd seen at a hundred hotels. Trash can was empty. Bathtub, shower doors and sink all dry. They'd sample them all anyway. He took pictures of all of it, then went back into the main room.

"What'a you got, Duck?" he asked when he saw the ME putting away his liver probe. Ducky had rolled her over and Gibbs could see her chest was as bruised as her back. She'd taken one hell of a beating.

"Looks like she's been dead about six hours. Maybe, three or four a.m."

"Cause?" Gibbs asked.

"Not yet, Jethro. No clear trauma that would have lead to her death. No indications of strangulation, no obvious signs of drug overdose. You'll have to wait until we get her home."

"Raped?" he asked.

"Perhaps. Some bruising on the insides of her thighs."

Gibbs sighed again. "Any defensive wounds?"

"Not that I can see. Doesn't look like she tried to protect herself from the beating at all."

"Restrained?"

"No sign of it on her wrists or ankles."

"Could the first hit have knocked her unconscious? Taken her by surprise?" Gibbs asked.

"No soft spots or swelling to her skull, so unlikely. I think she was probably unconscious before the beating started."

Gibbs took that in. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Are you thinking she might be victim number eight?" Ducky asked. Gibbs looked over at him and smiled ruefully.

"We've been working together too long, Ducky. If she is, our suspect is losing control, fast."

The Medical Examiner shook his head. "Not good, Jethro. Not good at all."

DiNozzo appeared in the doorway. "You ready for me in here, Boss?" he asked.

"Yeah. Shoot and sketch."

DiNozzo came in and started working the room.

* * *

It took them another three hours to finish processing the room, interviewing the witnesses and get back to the Navy Yard. They'd found no evidence visible to the eye, but they hoped there'd be something microscopic. They didn't find the victim's clothes. The team spent the first hour back writing reports and putting field notes in useable form, and trying to put together useful information from the bits and pieces they'd managed to gather.

Ducky had gone on ahead with the body, and Gibbs had some administrivia to deal with when he returned, so by the time he headed for the second basement where autopsy was located, hours had passed and the medical examiner was already finishing up.

"What'd you find, Ducky?" he asked as he entered autopsy, coffee in hand. The medical examiner had changed from the sweater, slacks, plaid shirt and bow tie he'd had on at the crime scene into doctor's scrubs and sneakers. A paper cover-all gown was dotted with blood spots and smears.

"Ah, Jethro. I was just about to call you. Our young seaman was definitely not beaten to death, as I surmised at the scene. No single or combined impacts strong enough to kill. No specific injuries that could have been fatal. No injuries to the head at all. I've ruled out natural causes, but still not found any clear cause of death. I'm afraid this one is going to take Abby's expertise. I sent up a sample of her blood for toxicology. Hopefully that will tell us something."

"Any physical evidence?" Gibbs stood next to Ducky as the doctor finished closing up the autopsy incision on the woman's chest.

"A startling lack of it. No fluids, no fibers. There was the minor bruising you saw on her thighs, and associated vaginal trauma indicating forced penetration. The only other marks on her body are from the weapon he used to beat her with. There were several clear imprints of that on her upper back. She died not long after the last few hits, and flowing blood didn't have a chance to muddy the mark. Here." He tied off the last knot, stripped off his gloves and gown, and moved over to the plasma on the wall. He clicked a button on the remote, and an image of a large red mark appeared. Gibbs moved over beside him.

"Hard to tell exactly what it was. Some type of blunt object, heavy, not large. My best guess would be a sap of some kind. The impressions are clear enough to match, should you come up with a possible weapon. I sent a scale photo up to Abby, she's going to run it through her computer, see what she can come up with."

"What do you make of the lack of bruising to her face?" Gibbs asked, moving back over to the body. It had been bothering him from the moment he'd noticed it in the motel room.

"Not certain. As you know, a man will usually start with the head and face. It causes a lot of pain and has strong shock value. Makes it easier to control the victim. It's possible the beating wasn't to control her, which would make sense if she was already unconscious as I suspect. Could be the animal just wanted to beat her. In which case, there's no need to attack the face or head. Could be he didn't want to ruin her beauty."

"But he beat her to death anyway?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

"As I said, Jethro, she was not beaten to death," Ducky said patiently. "Her death might have been accidental. If it is our rapist, perhaps he gave her too much GHB and it killed her."

"Could it?"

"Oh, most certainly. The last victim was lucky to be alive, with the quantity of the drug she still had in her when she returned to her ship. GHB is a depressant. In small doses it causes forgetfulness, drowsiness, decreased respiration and heart rate, and loss of muscle tone. As the dose gets higher, it can lead to seizure and coma. The coma, assuming there's no respiratory failure, lasts one to two hours, and recovery is typically complete within eight hours, though there is almost always memory loss. I believe that's what has been happening to our victims: they go into a coma, wake up in a few hours and remember nothing. I'm theorizing that this one suffered respiratory failure due to an excessive dose of the drug. Might have had something to do with her small size. She's just 4'11, weighed only 110 lbs. He probably miscalculated. If that is the case, she might have survived if she'd received immediate medical care."

"Alright. I'll check with Abby. Thanks, Duck." He turned away.

Outside autopsy, he picked up the Caf-Pow he'd bought for Abby and headed up one level. Abby's lab was silent. "Abby?" he called. The red-headed Lieutenant emerged from the ballistics lab behind Abby's office.

"You again?" Gibbs said.

"Good afternoon, s… Special Agent Gibbs." She stuttered over the 'sir' she was about to call him.

"Didn't Abby come back?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs. I was recalled this morning. Apparently Ms. Sciuto had to leave for the day."

"Did you run the blood from our homicide yet?"

"Yes. The drug screen was negative…"

"No GHB?" Gibbs interrupted.

"I was getting to that, Agent Gibbs. GHB doesn't appear on a standard drug screen. The drug screen was negative for controlled substances. The toxicology screen found GHB, at very high levels."

"High enough to have caused her death?"

"More than likely, yes."

"Did it match the formulation we have on file for our rapist?"

"Yes, to a 98 percent certainty."

Gibbs nodded. "Anything else?"

"Her blood sugar was high, probably as a result of the alcohol she consumed. Her blood alcohol level was .06."

"She wasn't intoxicated?" He was surprised. All the victims up to this point had been drinking heavily.

"The legal drinking age in Virginia is 21. For a 19 year old, any level of alcohol in the blood is considered under the influence." Gibbs stared at her, and she swallowed. "But you didn't need to know that. No, she wasn't intoxicated. Considering her size and weight, probably one unmetabolized drink still in her system."

"Last meal?"

She turned to the computer. "Hamburger, fries, peanuts, the alcohol."

"Fingerprints from the room?"

"Partials and smudges from dozens of donors. Eleven different full, clear prints from at least four different donors. There's no way to know how long any of them have been there. I'm in the process of eliminating her prints and the comparison prints collected from the motel staff before I scan the rest to AFIS."

"Trace?"

"Nothing you wouldn't expect to find in a motel room. I'm cataloging everything, in case you find a suspect to match it to."

"When," Gibbs said.

"Excuse me, sir? Special Agent?"

"When… we find a suspect. Anything else?"

"I'm running the mark Dr. Mallard found on the body against the DOJ's known tools marks database. Nothing yet."

"Call me in the squad room if you find anything." He turned to leave, once again dumping the Caf-Pow into the trash. His eyes skipped over Abby's computer console, and he turned back.

"The flowers. Where'd they go?"

"There were no flowers here when I got here, Agent Gibbs," the lieutenant said.

Gibbs left without another word to her. At least she hadn't thrown them out.

On his way upstairs, Gibbs called Abby's cell. After five rings, voicemail.

"Abby, Gibbs. Haven't heard back from you yet. Give me a call." He hung up. He started speaking as he entered the squad room.

"Ziva, the manager." The Israeli woman jumped to. She's been on his team a little less than two years. Her arrival at NCIS had been under strange circumstances: She was the handler for another Mossad officer supposedly under cover in a Hamas cell in the US. In fact, he had developed a personal vendetta against Gibbs that lead him to assassinate one of Gibbs' agents. The man – Ari Haswari – was Ziva's half brother. Which made it all the more difficult when she had to kill him to stop him from murdering Gibbs. Her long dark hair and habit of dressing like she was still working the sands of the Middle East instead of the streets of America's Capitol set her apart from his other agents, as did her training as an assassin and torture master. She was small, barely five foot seven, but with all his military experience and training Gibbs wasn't sure he'd best her in a no-holds-barred fight.

"Night manager rented the room to our victim around 1 a.m.," Ziva read from her notes as she came out around her desk. "She came in alone, didn't seem in any distress or under the influence of anything, paid for one night with her credit card. He took her driver's license number, claims he didn't see the vehicle she came in, and no vehicle was listed on the registration card. He said he didn't see anyone with her. Never heard from her again. The day manager called him in from home so I could talk to him. Day manager was at the desk around 8:30 when the maid came screaming in saying she'd found the body."

"What was the maid doing in the room so early?" Gibbs asked. He stared at the large plasma screen behind his desk, where a copy of Natalie Pharris's service record, including her picture, was on display.

"The key was turned in through the night drop. Manager assumed she'd checked out, so he cleared it for housekeeping."

"Prints on the key?"

"Looks like only the manager's. I sent it to Abby anyway."

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked.

"That's it," Ziva said. Gibbs nodded.

"McGee." The junior member of his team looked up from his PDA. He was more casually dressed than usual today in a tan sport coat, off-white crew-neck shirt and light brown slacks. His appearance was slowly changing as his comfort level at NCIS increased. When he was first reassigned from the Norfolk technical services office, it was all dress shirts and ties, as if he was afraid people wouldn't see him as grown-up and professional. He was young, true, but even when he was new, his knowledge of technology and his ability to coax any information Gibbs asked for out of his computers made him invaluable to the team, and to Gibbs personally. In the two years since he'd become a full-time field agent, McGee had slowly gained more confidence, and with it, had begun to relax. He'd lost weight, and was working steadily to improve his level of fitness and his skill with the more physical aspects of the job. He felt freer to speak his mind when he had something to say. DiNozzo had discovered one of McGee's personal insecurities and took great delight in giving him a hard time about not being manly enough. That had lead to some strange experiments with hair and clothes. He'd finally settled down on that front, thankfully, and now kept his receding hair in a short shag, and his face clean shaven. It concerned Gibbs that he still frequently switched back and forth between a frightening lack of self-confidence and the feeling that he could do anything. But he was maturing as an agent, and Gibbs hoped he found his comfort zone soon.

"Maid saw the victim as soon as she opened the door, never went inside. Guests in the room to the north said they heard our victim come in just past 1 a.m. She was talking loudly outside the door, trying to make the key work. They said she sounded nervous, but not scared. The man, Jack French, was adamant about that. Nervous, but not scared. They heard a man talking to her too low to make out words. They didn't look outside. They were still up watching movies when someone left around 3 a.m. Again, they didn't look outside. They heard people moving around in the room off and on in between times, no sounds of struggle, no arguing, nothing that caught their attention."

"What else?" McGee consulted his PDA again.

"No one was staying in the rooms below. Guests in the room to the south had already checked out, elderly tourists from Kansas. The manager said they were on a road trip, on their way home. I contacted their son at their home number. He said they typically check in once a day. When they next check in, he'll have them give us a call. I interviewed everyone else who was in that wing of the motel, three couples and seven singles. Eleven empty rooms. None of them heard or saw anything out of the ordinary. One man from further up the hall heard someone pass around the time the room was rented, again, a man and woman talking, nothing specific.

"The only security cameras are in the lobby. I reviewed the tapes from the time frame in question. It's like the manager said: She came in alone, in no obvious distress, rented the room, and left. I brought the whole night's worth down here, just in case, but the night manager swears he was there all night and she never came back. That's it."

Gibbs paused a moment to nod at McGee with an approving look before moving on. McGee had done more than Gibbs would have expected, and while it wouldn't do for him to gush when the work hadn't produced results, he was still pleased and wanted McGee to know it.

"DiNozzo…" Gibbs turned to his senior agent. There was certainly no lack of confidence there. At six two, with the build and grace of an NFL quarterback and male model good looks, he exuded self-confidence in everything he did. With McGee, Gibbs had to encourage him to take the lead. With DiNozzo, Gibbs spent a lot of his time reigning him in. Not to mention smacking him in the back of the head when he stepped out of line.

"Just got through talking to her Skipper, Boss. She was assigned as an apprentice corpsman at Bethesda, working in the emergency department. She'd been there just about two months. Hard worker, well liked, friendly, outgoing, good at her job. Was already up for promotion. Her Skipper invited us to come by anytime to talk to her shipmates. By the way, it's Captain Gelfand, and he says hello."

Gibbs nodded. He certainly remembered the neurologist who'd treated him in 1991 and again less than two years ago. While a Marine fighting in Desert Storm, he'd been caught in the fallout from a mortar attack in Kuwait and ended up in a 19-day coma. He'd actually met Gelfand for the first time when history repeated itself two years ago. A terrorist attempting to infiltrate Sealift – the Navy's program for civilian freighters to restock munitions and supplies aboard military ships – had set off a bomb on a ship in Norfolk Harbor. Gibbs had been a few feet from the explosion, saved only because the terrorist bragged about what he was about to do and Gibbs had a chance to take cover. That time, the coma lasted just two days, but it was followed by a week of confusion and fear: his brain had short-circuited and associated this explosion with the last one, wiping out 15 years of his memory. For almost a week, he thought he was fresh from the war, having just learned of the deaths of his wife and daughter. It had been horrific, but with the help of his team, his first boss at NCIS, and Captain Gelfand, he'd made it through. Last he'd heard, the doctor was Chief of Neurology at Portsmouth Naval Hospital in Norfolk.

Gibbs shared what he knew. "Ducky says she wasn't beaten to death. No defensive wounds and no indications of restraint means she was likely unconscious before the beating started. His theory is a drug overdose. Tox screen was negative for everything but GHB, which matched the formulation found in the seven prior victims of our rapist. We're going to work on the theory that this is victim number eight."

"Damn it," DiNozzo mumbled.

"Yeah. McGee, Ziva, hit the Red Rocks Café in Manassas. Seaman Pharris had a clean cocktail napkin from there in her purse. Maybe that's where he picked her up. Flash her picture around, see what you find."

"On it, Boss," McGee said. They geared up.

"DiNozzo, head over to Bethesda. Female sailors usually go on liberty in groups. Find out who she went out with, and confirm they went to Red Rocks. If they went anywhere else, let McGee and Ziva know."

"Got it." He, too, gathered up his gear. Gibbs sat at his desk and sipped his coffee. Now, about Abby.

He called up to Jenny's office, and Cynthia told him she was sitting in on a conference call in MTAC. The Multiple Threat Alert Center, located off the top floor of the NCIS building, was a round-the-clock operation where agents and techs monitored worldwide communications to produce indications and warnings of potential criminal and terrorist threats that could affect Naval operations. The center's ability to host teleconferences between parties in up to six different locations made it useful for mundane tasks as well as high-profile ones. Jenny's conference call could be an international terrorism update, or it might be a meeting of agency directors discussing the social schedule for the next convention. Either way, she was probably busy. Gibbs drained his cup and grabbed his coat. He would start with a refill.

* * *

To Be Continued...

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	3. Chapter 3

**Lying Eyes**

**Part Three**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

After getting fresh coffee, Gibbs walked over to the Naval Yard medical clinic. It was a day clinic operated under the umbrella of Bethesda Naval Hospital. It's primary job was deployment readiness: Every sailor and Marine preparing for international deployment stopped here for their medical clearance before getting the okay to travel. The clinic also had a small urgent care equipped to handle the everyday illnesses and injuries that affected those who made their living at the Yard. He pulled open the front door.

"May I help you?" the receptionist greeted him with a smile. He answered her with one of his best.

"I'm supposed to pick up a friend of mine, Abby Sciuto?"

"I'm sorry, sir, there's no one here by that name."

"Really? She called me from here, said she wasn't feeling well, came in to see the doctor, and needed a ride home. It took me awhile to get away. Do you know when she left?"

"I don't believe we had any patients here by that name today. Sciuto, you said?" She consulted her computer.

"Yes," Gibbs spelled it for her. "First name Abigail. You couldn't forget her: black hair in pigtails, black lipstick, dressed in a black body suit, red plaid mini-skirt, platform boots, dog collar around her neck."

The receptionist frowned and looked up at him. "Where on the Yard does she work and dress like that?"

Gibbs grinned at her. "NCIS. They're a little loose about things over there sometimes."

She smiled back, and tapped away at her computer.

"I'm sure I would have remembered her, and according to our records, she wasn't here today. Are you sure she was here, and not at the EMS station?"

"I thought she said the clinic."

"I certainly don't remember her. I've been on since 0700."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay, thanks. I'll try EMS."

Outside, Gibbs walked slowly back to the office. What the hell was going on with Abby? Lying to him, hiding injuries, sneaking around. This was so unlike her.

He bought an extra cup of coffee and rode up to the third floor, securing his weapon in his desk drawer and tossing his coat over the filing cabinet before climbing the stairs to MTAC. He leaned into the optical scanner that secured the high-security room and when the door buzzed, pushed through into the dim light.

Jenny was standing in the 'stage' area in front of the 10-foot high by 15-foot wide main screen. The main screen was divided into four views: the largest view took up three-quarters of the screen to the right, and three smaller views were stacked in a column along the left side. As needed, each of the views could be tuned to a different source. At the moment, the main view showed a long-range satellite shot of a battleship under full steam. The lowest of the three stacked views showed a Marine Colonel in Iraq battle gear. The other two were off-line, showing only test-pattern color bars. Using a headset and lip mike, Jenny was talking to the Colonel. The stage area was lit only enough to show the person doing the talking – in this case Jenny – but not the computers along one wall of the room being monitored by techs or the dozen or so risered seats that faced the screen. Gibbs took a seat in the gallery and watched.

For five minutes, Jenny and the man – Colonel Markinson, she called him – discussed an operation the Colonel was running and the ship they were watching. It meant nothing to Gibbs. When the discussion ended, she folded her mike up next to her ear and came to sit next to him in the semi-darkness.

"That for me?" she asked quietly, indicating the second coffee. Gibbs held it out to her and she took it gratefully.

"What was in Manassas?" she asked.

"Hospitalman Apprentice Natalie Pharris, age 19, murdered in a motel room. Probably rapist victim number eight."

Jenny frowned. "His first serious beating was less than a week ago. He's escalating fast."

"I noticed." Gibbs sipped his coffee.

"Was there any evidence this time?" Jenny asked.

"Weapon marks on the body. Clear enough to match, if we find a weapon. Still no DNA."

"But that's not what's bothering you," Jenny stated. Gibbs shrugged.

"It's Abby," Gibbs he said after a minute, but didn't elaborate.

"She went home a few hours after she got here," Jenny said. "She said she hurt herself over the weekend, took some Tylenol with Codeine, and after consulting with the doctor at the Clinic, figured she shouldn't be working. I recalled the Lieutenant."

Gibbs was silent. So she'd lied to Jenny, too. At least he didn't feel left out this time.

"How'd she hurt herself while she was sick?" Jenny asked.

"I don't know. She told me she was bowling."

"But you don't believe her," she said. It wasn't a question.

"If she was too sick to come to work for three days, she wouldn't be out bowling on the fourth."

Jenny agreed. "Did you call her on it, when she told you she hurt herself bowling?"

"Yes. I told her to go see Ducky, then we got the call to Manassas. I told her to go get checked out at the clinic, and call me back. She didn't."

"She called me from there," Jenny said. Again, Gibbs was silent.

"So what do you think actually happened to her?" Jenny asked.

Gibbs shook his head and shrugged. He drank more coffee. Lying to him was one thing. Hurtful to him, but harmless in the big picture. Lying to the Director could get Abby in trouble.

"I'll call her when I'm done here, see what I can find out," Jenny said. "You need anything else? I've got another call."

"Nope." Gibbs stood up.

"Thanks for the coffee," Jenny called over her shoulder as he headed up the shallow ramp toward the exit. He waved his own cup at her and let himself out.

At his desk, Gibbs started to dial Abby's cell, then stopped and hung up. He crossed to McGee's empty desk and called from his phone instead. Even if she didn't want to take his calls, she'd probably take McGee's. They were two of a kind, and they'd had a thing for awhile. Three rings, then Abby picked up.

"Hi Abs," he said. There was a pause, undoubtedly while Abby checked her caller ID again.

"Oh, hi Gibbs," she said.

"I didn't hear back from you after you went to the clinic."

"Yeah, sorry about that. You were right. I was pretty sore this morning, so I took Tylenol Threes. I knew I shouldn't be working after taking those, but I really wanted to get back to my lab. That's why I didn't want to tell you. Anyway, the doctor agreed with you, said I shouldn't be working and told me to go home. I called Director Shepard."

"What doctor?" Gibbs sat in McGee's chair, leaning forward over the phone.

"The one at the clinic." Gibbs bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from saying anything. Abby wouldn't lie to him without good reason.

"So how long will you be out? We could really use your help down here. The homicide we went on was our rapist's latest victim."

"Oh gosh, Gibbs, that's terrible. I'm so sorry. I'll be back tomorrow. I could probably come in late this afternoon. The meds should wear off in a few more hours."

"What did the doctor say?" Gibbs asked.

"About what?" Abby asked.

"About your injury, and when you could come back," Gibbs answered.

"He said I'd be fine. It was nothing, really. He said I could work as soon as I didn't need the codeine anymore. I haven't taken any since this morning, so I should be good to go in a couple more hours. I could come back." She seemed eager to come back. He was eager to have her back. There was no way in hell he was going to let her back until he knew what was going on.

"Tomorrow is soon enough, if you're sure you'll be alright."

"I'll be alright, Gibbs. I promise. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Okay. Hey Abs?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep." He hung up.

Gibbs sat thinking for a minute. The rest of his team would be out for a couple hours at least. There was nothing for him to be doing. He could afford to take some time.

Decision made, he climbed the stairs to Jenny's office, down the hall from MTAC.

"Director Shepard's not here, Special Agent Gibbs," Cynthia said as he entered.

"I know. She's still in MTAC. I just wanted to leave her a message. Tell her I'm going to be off duty, available on cell for about the next two hours."

"You know, you could have left that on her voicemail," Cynthia said. Gibbs smiled.

"But then I wouldn't have had the chance to talk to you. Just let her know when she comes up."

"You mean, when enough time has passed that you can do whatever you're about to do and she can't possibly stop you?" He glared at her, and she tried not to grin. He must be losing his touch.

"Thank-you, Cynthia." Gibbs jogged back down to his desk, holstered his gun and grabbed his jacket, and hurried out.

* * *

Two hours later, he returned, frustrated. He'd gone to Abby's apartment, but despite lights being on, no one had answered his knock. He'd spent an hour sitting in his car up the block, watching her door and the windows he could see through binoculars. He'd seen no movement inside. He had no way of knowing if she was home; she certainly wasn't answering either her home phone or her cell. Not answering calls from him, anyway. He'd briefly wondered if he'd done something to hurt her, but could think of nothing. Whatever it was, he was certain it wasn't him.

DiNozzo was back, with some new information but no new leads. The victim had gone out that night with three friends: two women and a man from her crew at Bethesda, all Hospitalman Apprentices. As Gibbs had figured, they were on their first week-long liberty after two months of boot camp and six of A-School, the primary career training centers for Navy careers. They'd taken a cab from Bethesda and tried two other bars in Northern Virginia before heading into Manassas and settling on the Red Rocks. They'd taken a table as a group, but the other two girls had almost immediately hooked up with a pair of male students from Virginia College. The male sailor – Michael Rodriguez – also met someone, but stayed close to Natalie until almost 11, when she told him she'd be okay if he wanted to leave with the girl he'd met. He'd argued, briefly, but it had been a long time between nights out and he was eager for some time alone with the girl. DiNozzo had waggled his eyebrows at that, and Gibbs had stared him down.

That was the last time any of Natalie Pharris's friends had seen her. None of the three were on duty the next morning – the reason they'd been out partying on a Sunday night – and none of them knew she was missing. DiNozzo had confirmed Rodriguez' alibi: he'd worked on the girl he'd met for more than an hour before striking out, and Bethesda base security checked him in just before 1 a.m. Based on the timeline of witnesses and Ducky's evidence, he was in the clear. He was actually really torn up, DiNozzo noted, convinced if he'd stayed with Natalie instead of going with the girl, he could have saved her.

None of the sailors DiNozzo had interviewed had anything bad to say about her. She had no known enemies, got along with everyone, was not known to have pissed anyone off. As hard as DiNozzo had tried, he wasn't able to find anyone willing to say a negative word about her. There wasn't even an undercurrent saying DiNozzo might be able to squeeze something out of someone given the chance.

"So we've got nothing," Gibbs summed up.

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo admitted defeat. "She went out with friends, they all left before her. None of them had any idea who she met up with."

"We might have something," came Ziva's voice. Gibbs turned to see her and McGee stepping off the elevator.

"Security cameras at the bar are state of the art," McGee said, waving an envelope. "We've got digital footage of her leaving, with someone."

"Show me," Gibbs said.

McGee pulled a flashcard out of the envelope and slipped it into his computer. A few key strokes later, he picked up the remote for the plasma.

"It's not a full-face, actually not much of his face at all, but I think it's something," McGee said.

"Get on with it, McGee," Gibbs said impatiently.

"Sorry, Boss." He consulted a note on the envelope the flashcard had been in, and started scanning through the footage on the plasma, looking for the right time stamp.

"She left at midnight 40, which fits the timeline for getting to the motel just past one. The crowd at the bar was pretty thin, being Sunday night and all. One of the bartenders remembers noticing her sitting alone around 11:30, saw a man approach her. He watched to be sure she was alright because he didn't recognize the man, and the man was so much bigger than our victim. Well over six feet, he figures. She seemed okay, so he went on with his business. He saw them again an hour later, seemed to be friendly, gathering their coats. They left right after that. Here it is." He stopped the scan.

The picture was stopped on a shot from above the front doors of the club. Natalie Pharris and a large man were just stepping outside. The man had Natalie under his arm, his head tipped down so it looked like he was speaking into her ear. He was wearing a trench coat and a brimmed hat, the hand not around Natalie in his coat pocket. The camera had caught all of Natalie, but only a flash of part of the side of his face, and one eye. McGee let it play forward, and the two of them stepped off the porch and out of the frame.

"That's it?" Gibbs asked. He was disappointed.

"Yeah, Boss. That's the only shot of him. Sorry."

"Any other cameras?"

"There's none inside that show customers, only the cash registers and behind the bar, intended to keep the staff honest and prevent robberies. Three parking lot cameras covering the entire lot, but they either hailed a cab or his car was parked down the block, because they don't show up in any of them. Maybe Abby can do something with it?"

"Maybe. She's gone for the day. Go down and work on it. Did you call the cab companies?"

"I did on the way back," Ziva said. "Three companies serve that area, plus the gypsies. None of the licensed companies reported a fare from there in the time frame in question. Tracking down the gypsies is near impossible."

"Do it anyway. What about nearby security cameras that might have caught a vehicle leaving the area in the right time frame?" Gibbs asked.

"Tried it, Boss. It's not exactly the high rent district. There were only two cameras that were positioned even close to correctly: one on a warehouse across the street, one on the building next door. Neither showed anything significant."

"Damn it, there has to be something," Gibbs said. "This girl was not invisible. Anything on his description from the bartender?"

"Basically the same as what we already have," Ziva said. "He estimates 6'5, though admits his guess might have been influenced to the high end by her small size. Says 210 to 225, 29 or 30 years old. White, dark brush cut, square jaw, heavy brow. He agreed to come down to work with the sketch artist this afternoon."

"Might be worth something. McGee, go work on that film. Ziva, the gypsy cabs. DiNozzo, help her out."

* * *

The gypsy cab search was a bust. By definition, gypsy cabs held no state licenses, and were nearly impossible to track. Nonetheless, Ziva and DiNozzo worked it hard, calling everyone they could think of who might have a number for an unlicensed cab company in eastern Virginia, then talking to each of them about fares from the area of the Red Rocks Café. They came up empty.

When the suspect sketch came in late that afternoon, Gibbs sent DiNozzo and Ziva to work the bars where each of their prior victims had been picked up. They'd show the new sketch around, see if he looked familiar to anyone. Meanwhile, McGee worked the rest of the afternoon trying to bring up more details off the security camera footage. With nothing but a small slice of his face and one eye, the computer didn't have enough detail to extrapolate a full-face image at anything better than 30 percent accuracy. The picture he produced was good, but there was only a one-third chance that it was good enough to ID their killer.

Gibbs figured something had to break soon. This bastard could not keep this up, raping women and leaving no evidence, for much longer. He just couldn't be that good. It was only a matter of time before he slipped up and left something behind they could use. Then Gibbs would take great pleasure in throwing his ass in the Brig.

* * *

Despite the late hour, Tim McGee was still up writing. He'd had a brainstorm about what would happen next in his latest book. He was typing furiously trying to get it all down before he lost it. He knew it was late, knew he was going to be exhausted in the morning, knew that Gibbs would probably be pissed at him for it, but he didn't care. He was on such a roll.

McGee had been writing as a hobby since high school. He'd finally published his first novel the year before. It had earned him high praise and a huge payday. His second was finally finished and early reviews said he had another hit on his hands. He had started working on his third a few weeks ago, and things were going pretty well. This latest brainstorm, though, was hot.

When his cell rang just before 3 a.m., he barely recognized the sound for what it was, so deep was he concentrating on what he was doing. It took three rings before he realized what he was hearing and he reluctantly snatched it up.

"McGee," he said, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear and returning his fingers to the keyboard. At first there was nothing but silence.

"Hello?" he said.

"Tim?" A soft voice, low and… crying. His attention immediately focused.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"It's Abby."

"Abby? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Can you come over?" she asked. He could hear her trying to catch her breath.

"What's wrong?" McGee asked again.

"Please, Tim. Just, can you come?" She sniffled.

"Yes. Are you safe? Should I call for help?"

"No! Don't call anyone else. Just come," Abby begged. "Please?"

"I will. I'm on the way. Do you want me to…" the line disconnected.

"Abby?" he hit end and dialed her number back. She didn't answer.

All thoughts of fiction abandoned, McGee threw on his jacket, shoved his bare feet into sandals, and snatched up his wallet and keys. He took two steps toward the door, then thought again and grabbed his gun.

Twenty minutes later, he screeched to a halt in front of Abby's apartment building in Alexandria, Virginia. Abby lived on the upper floor of a two-storey walk-up, and he ran the stairs, knocking on her door less than a minute later. The door swung open at his touch.

"Abby? It's Tim McGee," he said through the door, and pulled his weapon. There was silence. "Abby!"

"Come in," he heard her voice, broken with emotion, and he moved cautiously into the apartment. Abby was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, leaning against the lower cupboards. Her cell phone was open on the floor next to her. The kitchen table was lying on its side, one of the chairs in pieces. A vase of roses had been smashed against the kitchen wall, leaving a puddle of water along with the flowers and broken glass. She was clutching a black teddy bear to her chest with one arm, the other hanging limp beside her. He quickly searched through the two-bedroom apartment, noticing obvious signs of a protracted struggle, but finding no intruder. He holstered his gun, returned to the kitchen, and crouched in front of her.

"Are you alright, Abby?" he asked. He ran a hand over her head and down her shoulder, making her cry out. He jumped. Her breath was coming in uneven, shallow gasps. Her face was pale except for a small cut in the center of a bruise on her left cheekbone. A thin trail of blood ran down her face from the cut. She was biting her lower lip, obviously trying hard to control her emotions. Her eyes were haunted.

"I think I need a hospital," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Got mugged," she said.

"God, Abby, why didn't you call 9-1-1? Where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," she said, and let out a sob.

"Okay, it's alright. I'm going to call for an ambulance, get you taken care of. Don't move, okay?" He pulled out his cell phone. She let the bear go and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

"Can't you take me?" she asked. "Please?"

"Abby, no. You might be really hurt. You need an ambulance. And the police need to take a report."

"No, Tim. Please, no police. Just help me." She started to cry again.

"Alright, I will. I'll help you. Can you stand up?" She shook her head.

"It hurts."

"Okay. Let me help." He put his arms around her middle to pull her to her feet, and she screamed, making him jump back.

"That's it, Abby. I'm calling an ambulance." She nodded miserably, gasping for breath. He opened his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"I need an ambulance at…" he reeled off her address. "Someone's been hurt." He listened for a moment.

"I'm not sure. I think she fell," he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he figured Gibbs would want NCIS to work this up, so it's not like he was actually failing to report a crime, right?

"Yes, she's breathing, and conscious. Hurry, please." He gave his name and cell number and hung up.

"They're on the way, Abby. Just hang on, okay? They'll be here soon." She nodded miserably, still trying to get her breathing back in control. She seemed to be settling, then suddenly cried out again and grabbed his hand.

"Promise you won't call Gibbs," she said urgently.

"What? Why not?" McGee asked. Calling Gibbs had actually been next on his list.

"Just don't. Please. He'll get mad at me."

"Mad? At you? For getting hurt? What are you talking about, Abby?"

"Please, Tim. Promise you won't tell him," Abby begged.

"I can't do that, Abs. I have to call him. He needs to know."

"Not yet. Not tonight. Please."

"Abby…"

"Please," she said once more. He reluctantly nodded.

"I'll wait as long as I can. That's all I can promise." He heard sirens in the distance and gently squeezed her hand.

"They're almost here. Just try to stay calm. It's gonna be alright," he soothed. She suddenly shivered violently.

"Are you cold? Let me get you a blanket." He stood, but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"I'm just going to get you a blanket, Abby. You could be going into shock." She only gripped him tighter.

"Okay. It's alright. I won't leave you."

The sirens grew louder, then cut out.

"They're here, Abs. They're here, and they're going to take care of you. It's alright." McGee kept up a soothing litany for another three minutes before there was a knock on the open door. McGee looked up to see two uniformed medics come in, carrying their gear.

"Paramedics," one of them said needlessly. "What's going on?"

"She's hurt. I'm not sure how badly."

"Okay. We'll take care of her." They came in, setting down their stuff. One of them crouched next to McGee while the other scanned the kitchen, taking in the mess. Tim saw the question forming.

"What happened here?" the medic asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure. Here." He reached across his body to get his ID folder without letting go of Abby's hand.

"I'm a Federal Agent, with NCIS. She's with me. I'm not sure what happened yet, but my team will handle it."

"What agency?" the medic asked. Tim sighed. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that blank look. The agency wasn't well known outside of military circles, nowhere close to the household name the FBI and CIA had become.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service." When they still looked blank, he elaborated. "I'm a Navy cop. She's one of ours."

"Alright. What's your name, miss?" the one in front of Abby said.

"Her name's Abby. Abby Sciuto," Tim supplied.

"Well my name's Curt, and this is Chris, and we're going to take good care of you, Abby. But I need you to let your friend go. He won't go far, I promise. I just need him out of the way. Can you let him go?" Reluctantly, Abby nodded and let go of McGee's hand. McGee stood up and backed out of the way.

"Good. Very good. Now where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Abby whispered.

"Is there one place where it hurts the worst?" Abby nodded and gestured toward her left arm and chest.

"Okay, we'll start there."

The medics began to carefully examine her. She was wearing loose flannel pajamas, and when the medic named Curt pulled up the hem of her night shirt to take a look at her belly, Tim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. All the skin he could see was black and blue.

"What the hell happened to you, Abby?" he asked, and Abby should her head.

"No Gibbs. You promised," she whispered.

"I know," McGee said. He was already regretting it.

Within 10 minutes, the medics had finished their assessment of Abby and loaded her as gently as possible onto a gurney.

"Any hospital preference?" one of them asked McGee as they wheeled her out of the apartment. They had covered her with a thick blanket, and she could see a lump under it where she was again clutching the teddy bear under her good arm. The bear was one Tim recognized: It was dressed as a Goth and Gibbs had given her for her birthday a few years before.

"Can you take her to Bethesda?" he asked.

"She's in the Navy?" the medic asked.

"Sort of. I'll follow and clear it with them."

"That alright with you, Abby?" the medic asked. Abby nodded. Her eyes had lost the haunted look, but she was clearly still frightened. And hurting.

"Alright. Bethesda it is. We'll see you there."

After they left, McGee searched for Abby's purse and keys. He found her purse on her unmade bed with her keys inside. She'd clearly been inside the house already when the attack occurred.

"What happened here, Abs?" he whispered into the stillness. "And why don't you want Gibbs to know?" He grabbed her purse, made sure her wallet and ID were inside, then locked up the apartment and headed out.

* * *

To Be Continued...

Feedback Welcome here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	4. Chapter 4

**Lying Eyes Part 4**

**by joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

At the hospital, McGee checked Abby in, offering her NCIS ID as explanation for why she was at a Navy Hospital. She was taken into the trauma room while McGee filled out paperwork. When he finished the papers, he locked Abby's purse in the trunk of his car and returned to the waiting room. Thirty minutes after that, the doctor came out to see him.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Lyndon. You brought Abby in?"

"Yes, Tim McGee, NCIS."

"Are you investigating the attack?"

"We will be, yes."

"Good. She's stable, but she's got some moderate injuries and she's going to need surgery."

"Surgery?" McGee was startled. "For what?"

"She's got a broken rib that punctured her spleen. It's a fairly simple repair, but she's bleeding internally and we have to fix it as soon as possible."

"God. What are her other injuries?"

"She was beaten with fists and feet, and likely some kind of blunt object, though she said she's not sure. In addition to the rib fracture, her left shoulder was dislocated. She's got a lot of painful bruising, but that's the extent of the serious injuries. After we assessed her, we gave her some slight sedation and reduced the shoulder. She's a lot more comfortable now, if you'd like to see her before we take her to the OR."

"Yes, please," McGee said. The doctor lead the way into the trauma room.

Abby was laid out on her back on a gurney, covered to the neck with white blankets. She looked pale, more so than usual, and her eyes were closed. Someone had cleaned the blood from her face.

"She's pretty out of it," the doctor said, "but she is conscious."

McGee moved over to the bedside and leaned on the rail.

"Abby? Can you hear me?" Her eyelids fluttered, and she struggled to focus on his face.

"Tim," she whispered.

"You're going to be alright. The doctor says you need surgery." She nodded. "You want me to call anyone?" She shook her head, swallowed, and tried to speak.

"Not… Gibbs…" she said.

"I know." Her eyes drifted shut again. He watched her for a few minutes, then reached out toward her forehead and lightly brushed her bangs back.

"We're ready to take her up to surgery now," a nurse said from his elbow, and McGee nodded and stepped back.

"Where can I wait?" he asked.

"Surgical waiting room is on the second floor, turn right off the elevators."

"Thanks." With one more look at Abby's still form, he headed out.

Back in the lobby, McGee stopped to consider his next move. Abby had been adamant about not calling Gibbs, but he wasn't so sure. Actually, he was pretty damn sure that Gibbs was going to kill him for not calling him the second he got to Abby's place. Actually going to kill him.

McGee knew there was something special between Gibbs and Abby. It wasn't a sexual thing. If he had to put a label on it, he'd say father / daughter, though sometimes it was more like big brother / little sister. Their love for each other was obvious a hundred times a day, in every gesture, every word. Every time she gave him a smart answer and he didn't smack her in the back of the head like he did the rest of them, every time he gave her a grin instead of a glare, every time he kissed her and said 'good job, Abs,' in every personally delivered Caf-Pow. McGee didn't know how long they'd known each other, but it had been a bunch longer than he and Abby had been friends. He wondered again why she didn't want him called. What had she said? That Gibbs would be mad at her? What was that about?

When Gibbs found out McGee hadn't immediately told him that Abby was hurt, McGee would be lucky to still have a job. He'd be lucky to still be alive. He knew that as sure as he knew Abby would never forgive him if he broke his promise and called Gibbs tonight. What the hell was he supposed to do? It didn't feel right leaving Gibbs in the dark, and it felt just as bad thinking about breaking his promise to Abby.

"Wait," McGee said out loud. He hadn't promised not to call Tony. Maybe Tony could help. It was the coward's way out, but he had to do something. With a glance at his watch – past 4 a.m. – he dialed Tony's cell.

"Hello?" a female voice, wide awake. McGee moved the phone back to look at the display and confirm the number was right. Yes, he'd dialed Tony.

"Is Tony there?"

"He's sleeping. Can I take a message?" the woman said.

"Wake him up, please. It's important."

"He's not going to like this," she said before he heard the phone being muffled. He waited a full minute before he got Tony's sleepy voice.

"Tony? It's McGee."

"Who?" DiNozzo said.

"Tony, wake up. It's Tim McGee. I need you. Abby's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Tony asked. He was instantly awake.

"She got mugged. She's at Bethesda with a broken rib and a punctured spleen," McGee said. "She's on her way to surgery."

"God," Tony said. "Did you call Gibbs?"

"She made me promise not to. Can you come down here?"

"She what? No way, McGee, you've got to call him. He'll find out, and then I'll have to figure out where to hide your body."

"Please, Tony, just come down here, and don't call Gibbs."

There was a reluctant sigh. "Fine. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Great. You won't call Gibbs, right?" McGee confirmed.

"For now, Probie. For now."

McGee hung up, grateful he'd gotten that much concession.

* * *

DiNozzo came blowing into the waiting room 40 minutes later. McGee was sitting on a small couch, the only person in the room.

"Where is she?" he demanded. He was wearing an untucked button-down shirt, jeans and athletic shoes, and his NCIS baseball cap. McGee could see his holstered gun riding high on his hip under the tails of the shirt.

"Still in surgery," McGee replied.

"What happened?" DiNozzo asked. He sat in a chair across from McGee.

"I'm not sure. She called me at home about three, asked me to come over. When I got there, her apartment was trashed and she was sitting in the kitchen, all beat up. She said she got mugged. She took a hell of a beating. Doctor says she's got a broken rib that punctured her spleen."

"Is she going to be alright?" DiNozzo asked.

"Supposed to be a simple procedure.

"What did the LEOs say?" Ton asked, referring to local law enforcement officers.

"They weren't there," McGee said.

"Why not?" DiNozzo asked.

"She didn't call them, and neither did I." DiNozzo stared at him.

"McGee, what the hell are you thinking? Gibbs is going to kill you!"

"Tony, she made me promise. She said Gibbs would be mad at her."

"What?"

"I don't know. But she was insistent. She didn't even want me to call an ambulance at first."

"Yeah, well, she didn't make me promise. And besides the risk to our careers and our physical well-being – not that I care nearly as much about your physical well-being as I do my own – don't you think Gibbs deserves to know she's hurt? I mean, you know how he is with her. Whatever it is she's afraid of…" DiNozzo stopped, frowned.

"What, Tony?" McGee asked.

"You don't think…" DiNozzo looked up at him.

"What?" McGee repeated.

"No. That's stupid. Never mind." DiNozzo waved his hand in dismissal. "Whatever she thinks, making Gibbs wait until morning to find out about this isn't going to help anything."

"What were you thinking?" McGee asked.

"Nothing. It was stupid. O-dark-30 thoughts. I'm going to call him."

McGee was silent. He'd known it was inevitable. But Abby was going to be really upset with him.

DiNozzo made the call. He kept it short, telling Gibbs that Abby had been hurt, was at Bethesda, and they didn't know much more. Gibbs said he was on the way.

"What information are you going to have for Gibbs when he gets here?" DiNozzo asked when he hung up. "Because he's going to start shooting questions as soon as he walks in, and if he doesn't get answers, he's going to shoot you."

"Not much," McGee said. "Like I said: She called me, I went over. She said she got mugged, and her apartment showed clear signs of a struggle that moved through the entryway, living room, and kitchen. Her purse was on the bed, the bedroom undisturbed, and I didn't notice anything missing from the house. It's like maybe she surprised someone who was already there when she got home."

"Maybe. Any signs of forced entry?"

"Not that I noticed. Her door was ajar when I got there. Maybe it was someone she let in?" McGee suggested.

"Maybe," DiNozzo said. "In which case it would have had to have been someone she knew. She wouldn't let a stranger into her place in the middle of the night. Not even Abby is that trusting."

They were silent for a moment.

"What about that psycho that was stalking her?" DiNozzo asked.

"Still in prison, not due for release for another four to six years as far as I know," McGee answered. He looked up at DiNozzo. "I should check, be sure he didn't escape or something."

"You should. It's the first thing Gibbs will think of."

"Right." McGee got on the phone.

While McGee started making calls, DiNozzo considered the insane thought that had popped into his head. When he worked for local law enforcement, he'd dealt with plenty of victims who'd been beaten by the people they loved. And always it was the same story: they claimed their husband/boyfriend/significant other hadn't been the one who'd hurt them, but they didn't want that person called. The most natural support person in the world, and the victim didn't want them to come. It had always caused blips on his radar, and it was doing that now. Abby didn't want them to call Gibbs. But there was no way Gibbs had hurt Abby. Simply no way. It was crazy to even think it.

But if that wasn't it, if Abby wasn't actually afraid of Gibbs himself, then what? As far as DiNozzo knew, she had no family in the area, no significant other to call. There was only Gibbs, her father / big brother / friend. So why didn't she want him here?

He'd told McGee he was thinking crazy thoughts, and they were crazy. But he was thinking them anyway. What if Gibbs had somehow hurt her? Gotten drunk, gotten angry, totally lost it, taken it out on her? He'd never known Gibbs to drink to excess, so that wasn't likely. On the other hand, he had seen Gibbs totally lose it and get physical with someone. More than once. Usually when the threat was to a woman or a child. Gibbs had a vicious temper, and on the rare occasion he'd let it out, the fallout had always been blood and broken bones. Still, he'd never seen Gibbs lose his temper and get physical with a woman. Not once in almost five years. So why would his first slip be with Abby, whom he clearly loved?

It felt strange, using that word in reference to Gibbs. Love. Until recently, DiNozzo wasn't sure he'd have said that Gibbs loved anything other than the Marine Corps and his boat. And he probably loved his job. But people? Not so much. He liked Ducky and Jenny, tolerated Ziva and McGee and him. Everyone else was pretty much flotsam on his ocean. Except for Abby. Abby he loved like the daughter he'd lost.

It had come as a huge shock to DiNozzo to find out – after the explosion in Norfolk Harbor last year that had nearly killed Gibbs – that his boss had once had a family. They all knew about his three ex-wives. But none of them had known about his first wife Shannon and his eight-year-old daughter Kelly. They'd been killed in 1991, while he was deployed to Kuwait fighting in Desert Storm. Shannon had witnessed the murder of a Marine by a drug dealer and was set to testify against the killer. She and Kelly were being protected by NCIS. An assassin had taken out the protector while he was driving them, and they'd died in the ensuing crash. Before Gibbs could get stateside for the double funeral, he'd been caught in an explosion, and spent 19 days in a coma. By the time he'd come out of the coma, made it back to the U.S., and been released from the hospital, they were already six months buried. From what DiNozzo knew about Gibbs, it had to have nearly killed him, to first be told his family was gone, then not be able to participate in their memorials or choose where they would be buried.

Had Kelly lived, she'd be 26 now, only a few years younger than Abby. When DiNozzo found out about Gibbs' family, it had suddenly made more sense, his relationship with Abby. Whether Gibbs consciously acknowledged it or not, Abby was his lost daughter. Not that DiNozzo would ever speak that thought aloud. Gibbs would not appreciate the sentiment, or the idea that DiNozzo had been trying to get inside his head.

Still, it was undeniably true. And given that, how could Gibbs hurt Abby? Especially this badly? He didn't even smack her in the back of the head when she smart-mouthed him or tried to mess with him, like he inevitably did with McGee and him, and even Ziva. He'd never raised his hand to her, rarely had a harsh word for her.

So what then? If it wasn't that he'd hurt her, why wouldn't she want him called? DiNozzo couldn't get beyond the pattern he knew so well, that abuse victims didn't want their abusers called. It was stupid, but as hard as he tried to push it out of his head, the thought kept niggling at him. What if Gibbs had done this? He wouldn't have done it on purpose, that much was certain. But what if…

* * *

Gibbs was flying across town. His heart rate was approaching 100, his breath coming fast, his blood pressure pounding in his ears. Abby was in the hospital. Damn it, he should have made her tell him what was going on. He'd called the hospital for the official line after DiNozzo hung up, but they'd refused to tell him anything over the phone. So he'd thrown on jeans and a jacket and taken off. Hollis Mann, an Army Lieutenant Colonel and Gibbs' current love interest, had been lying in bed next to him and was woken by the cell when it rang on the nightstand. She'd offered to go with him, but he hadn't wanted company for this.

Bethesda was 20 miles from his house, and he pushed his car as fast as it would go. He had to get there now, see for himself that Abby was okay.

"Damn it!" Gibbs swore, and hit the steering wheel with his fist. Why hadn't he made her tell him?

Half an hour after DiNozzo's call, Gibbs pushed through the ER doors. He strode to the counter and flipped open his ID.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Patient Abby Sciuto. Where is she?"

"Spelling?" the nurse asked, ignoring his gruff manner. She was used to Marines and their demands. And no matter what agency he said he was with, he was obviously a Marine.

Gibbs spelled it. She tapped at her computer.

"She's in surgical recovery. You can't see her yet. If you go to surgical waiting, the doctor will update you there."

"Where?"

"Take that elevator to the second floor, turn right." She indicated.

Getting off the elevator on the second floor, he turned right and saw McGee and DiNozzo sitting in the waiting room.

"What do you know?" he demanded as he entered. Both men stood, turning toward him. DiNozzo spoke first.

"The doctor was just in. She's out of surgery and stable. We can see her in about an hour."

"What kind of surgery?"

"She had a punctured spleen, from an assault. It wasn't serious," DiNozzo said.

"Wasn't serious? Since when is a ruptured spleen not serious?" Gibbs was almost yelling. Both McGee and DiNozzo fell silent. Gibbs held DiNozzo's eye for a moment, then took a breath and let him go.

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Abby called me, asked me to come over," McGee said. "When I got there, I found her door open, signs of a struggle in her apartment. She was sitting on the kitchen floor. She'd been beat up, Boss. Bad. I called an ambulance and had her brought here."

"Did she say who did it?" Gibbs asked.

"No. She wasn't talking much. The only person I could think of was Mikel Mawher, that lunatic who was stalking her. He's still in prison, I checked with the duty warden half an hour ago. I've got the office pulling all the cases she's scheduled to testify in, so we can go over them in the morning, see if anyone's making a move against her."

"It is morning. What did the local LEOs say?" McGee swallowed, looked over at DiNozzo, then squared his shoulders and seemed to brace himself.

"I didn't call them."

"You didn't call them?" Gibbs said slowly, his voice hard, his teeth clenched. He got up in McGee's face. "Why the hell not?"

"She didn't want me to. She insisted. I figured you'd want us to investigate it ourselves anyway, without the locals messing up the scene. I locked up her apartment and came directly here."

Gibbs stared at him for a second, then nodded.

"Alright. It's alright." Gibbs rubbed his hands over his hair and took a few steps away. "Alright."

"There's one more thing," McGee said. Gibbs stopped and turned back.

"What?"

"She didn't want me to call you, either. Made me promise I wouldn't." Gibbs stared at him. "I'm sorry, Boss."

DiNozzo watched Gibbs, waiting for what would come next. Gibbs was one hell of an actor when he wanted to be, but DiNozzo was pretty confident Gibbs hadn't been acting up until now. If he'd been the one to hurt Abby – not that DiNozzo really thought he had – he would have anticipated that she wouldn't want to see him.

"You didn't say when," Gibbs said after a moment.

"Boss?" McGee said, not understanding.

"You didn't say when she called you."

"Around 3."

For a moment, they were all frozen as Gibbs stared at McGee, McGee tried hard not to flinch, and DiNozzo got ready to act. DiNozzo figured this could go one of two ways: Either Gibbs didn't know Abby didn't want him around and he'd flip out on McGee's head, or he knew and he'd stand down. Assuming Gibbs had nothing to do with it, DiNozzo was going to have to stop him from killing McGee. He understood why Gibbs would try, but he still couldn't stand by and let it happen.

"Okay," Gibbs said, and stood down. DiNozzo was startled.

"Boss?" he said, a question clear in his voice. Gibbs moved over to the window and looked out into the dark.

"She was hurting this morning. When she got to work. Wouldn't tell me why. I told her to see Ducky and she refused. She lied to me and the Director, claiming she'd gone to the clinic while we were in Manassas. I knew something was wrong."

DiNozzo tipped his head to the side, focusing on Gibbs' back. That could explain why Gibbs hadn't jumped McGee, if he already knew Abby was avoiding him. But why would Abby be avoiding him?

"This beating happened today. Tonight," McGee said. "It's separate from whatever you saw wrong with her this morning."

"I know," Gibbs said.

There was silence again while McGee and DiNozzo tried to process that.

"What are you saying, Boss?" DiNozzo said finally.

"I don't know." He turned back to them. "Thanks for calling me."

Both men were stunned and exchanged looks. That was so not Gibbs.

"I need coffee," he said.

"There's a machine down the hall," McGee offered. "It's not great, but…"

Without a word, Gibbs went looking for it.

"Wow," DiNozzo said when he was gone. "I thought he was going to kill you."

"Yeah, me too," McGee said. "What do you suppose he's thinking?"

"He's thinking someone's been beating Abby and she didn't tell us," DiNozzo said. He didn't voice the rest of the thoughts in his head.

"Why wouldn't she tell us?" McGee asked. DiNozzo shrugged.

"I don't know," he said needlessly.

* * *

Gibbs picked the paper cup of coffee out of the vending machine and took a sip. He'd had worse. He stood for a moment, thinking. Why wouldn't Abby tell him someone was beating her? And why would she make McGee promise not to call him? What had he done to her?

He had to talk to her. Now. Gibbs turned away from the machine and strode down the hall. He followed the signs to surgical reception, where a young woman in Navy work blues was sitting reading a paperback novel.

"Can I help you?" she asked when he approached. He flipped out his credentials.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. I need to see a patient in surgical recovery. It's urgent."

"Patient name?" she asked. She turned to her computer.

"Sciuto, Abigail." She typed it in.

"She came out of surgery about… 45 minutes ago. She wasn't in that long, but she's probably still unconscious. You won't be able to talk to her."

"I'd like to see her anyway," Gibbs said.

"I'll call the charge nurse." She picked up the phone and spoke briefly to someone.

"You can go back and speak to Lt. Fairchild at the nurses' station. She's the nurse taking care of Miss Sciuto." She indicated a double door to her left.

"Thanks." Gibbs approached the door, which buzzed then opened automatically. The nurses' station was ahead to the right.

"Hi, you're looking for Miss Sciuto?" An older nurse in khaki uniform scrubs stood up behind the counter. When he nodded, she stuck out her hand.

"Janna Fairchild."

"Jethro Gibbs," he shook. "I'd like to see her if it's alright."

"Sure. You can't interview her, though. She's still pretty much out of it." She came out around the counter, and led him to an area of small curtained-off cubicles. She pulled one of the curtains aside to reveal Abby, lying on a gurney, asleep or unconscious. Multiple IVs dotted her left arm and hand, cables for multiple monitors snaked out from under the blankets, and a ventilator was blowing her chest up and down. Gibbs felt his own chest tighten.

"She's not breathing on her own?" he asked. His voice sounded strangled to his own ears and he cleared his throat.

She looked at him strangely and smiled. "Nothing to worry about. When the respiratory therapist gave her the extubation test 30 minutes post-op, she failed it. About half our patients do. They'll try again in 15 minutes or so."

"What do you mean, she failed the test?"

"The RT blocked the vent tube, to see if she'd start breathing independently. She didn't. People react differently to the anesthetic. It's not unusual." She checked the monitor above the bed, then recycled the blood pressure cuff around Abby's right arm. Gibbs moved to the other side of the bed and looked down at her. She was pale, her hair loose and tangled around her head. She had no make-up on – the first time in a long time he'd seen her without it – and she looked so young. A single small cut and bruise on her left cheekbone marred her face.

"What'd the surgeon say?" he asked.

"May I ask why you're asking?"

"She's a friend."

"So these aren't official questions, Special Agent Gibbs?" the nurse asked, and smiled at him. He smiled back.

"No ma'am." He shook his head.

"In that case, the surgeon said she's going to be fine. It was a small puncture, and a simple repair. They did it laparoscopically, through two small incisions. That's likely part of the reason she's been a little delayed in recovery. The anesthesiologist anticipated a longer procedure. The doctor foresees a full recovery, with no deficits. She's likely to be in pain for awhile from her other injuries, but all in all she'll be okay."

"What are her other injuries?" On the bed, Abby twitched, and her eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

"Lots of bruising, some of it pretty deep. Her left shoulder was dislocated, they reduced it in the emergency room. Her lower back and kidneys were badly bruised. She'll probably have trouble straightening up for a few days."

"What'd he hit her with?" Again, Abby twitched. This time, her head moved sharply toward Gibbs. He thought maybe she was responding to his voice.

"Fists and feet, maybe some sort of blunt object. He could have done a lot more damage. I'm surprised there's only the one bruise on her face. Usually the abusive bastards go there first."

"I know." Gibbs watched Abby as her eyes struggled to open. He leaned on the bedrail, balancing his coffee cup in one hand and touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes opened fully and she looked toward him.

"Hi, Abby. Can you hear me?" She blinked several times, then nodded slightly.

"You're in the hospital. You're going to be fine. I'm here, and DiNozzo and McGee are in the waiting room. You gave us one hell of a scare." Her eyes squeezed shut. A tear slipped out of one.

"Hey now, don't cry. It's alright." He thumbed the tear off her cheek and she opened her eyes again. She tried to speak around the tube.

"Don't try to talk. You've got a breathing tube in your throat. Docs will get it out soon. Just relax." She nodded again. Her right hand twitched, and after a second, she brought it up toward her chest. She made a loose fist and moved it in an aborted circle. He caught her hand and shook his head.

"No, Abs, it's alright. We'll talk later, okay? You rest." He raised his right hand, two middle fingers down, thumb, first finger and pinkie up, and showed it to her. She gave a half smile, and her eyes drifted shut, not reopening this time.

"What's she sorry about?" Janna asked. Gibbs looked up at her.

"You speak sign language?" he asked.

"A few words. She's sorry, and you're more than a casual friend. Are you family?"

"Sort of," Gibbs said. "How long before she's moved to a room?"

"Now that she's been conscious, I'm sure the extubation will be successful. When the RT comes back, he'll give her the test again, and if he pulls the tube, we'll move her then."

"I'll be in the waiting room. Will someone let me know?"

"Certainly."

Gibbs nodded and turned to go.

* * *

Returning to the waiting room, Gibbs found his men where he'd left them.

"I just talked to her. She's still on the ventilator from surgery. They're going to try and pull the tube within half an hour."

"Is she still hurting?" McGee asked.

"She's pretty drugged up, so probably not." McGee nodded, grateful to hear it.

Gibbs drained his cup, tossed it into the trash can, and sat in one of the chairs. After a moment, DiNozzo and McGee joined him.

They were silent for a few minutes, then McGee spoke again.

"I'm really sorry, Boss," he said.

"For what?" Gibbs asked.

"For screwing this up. For not calling the local LEOs, for not calling you sooner."

"Don't apologize, McGee," Gibbs said.

"It's a sign of weakness, I know," McGee said.

"No. You didn't screw anything up. You were right about the locals getting in the way. We will investigate this ourselves, and we will find the son of a bitch responsible." Gibbs felt his temper trying to get loose and took a breath.

"As for calling me sooner…" He paused, and had to smother a smile. "Abby can be convincing. You called me. That's all that matters."

"Actually, I called you, Boss," DiNozzo spoke up. "Probie was afraid Abby would kill him if he did."

"And you were afraid I'd kill you if you didn't."

DiNozzo raised his eyebrows and tipped his head sideways in acknowledgement.

Outside, the day was beginning to lighten with the dawn. Gibbs got up and went to look out the window again. Somewhere out there was a bastard who had hurt one of his. As soon as Abby was up to talking, he was going to find out who it was, and he was going to nail him. As God was his witness.

He'd hired Abby almost ten years before, right after she graduated with honors from a dual masters' program in criminology and forensics at Georgia State University. Ducky was invited to participate on a dissertation committee at the college, hearing master's and doctoral candidates defend their work. After reading Abby's forensics thesis, Ducky had called Gibbs and asked him to fly down and sit in on her defense. Her forensics topic was a controversial one: spontaneous human combustion. While much of the science was over Jethro's head, listening to her defend her ideas was amazing. He couldn't believe the level of intelligence coming out of such a… strange girl. He'd come across a few Goths in his day, but never one quite like Abby. Ducky had taken them both to lunch afterwards, and they'd immediately hit it off. Four months later, Ducky had informed him that Abby had applied to fill their vacant forensics tech position, and Gibbs had personally convinced the Director they had to hire her.

Two years after that, Abby was running her own lab. In the meantime, Gibbs had grown more and more fond of her, despite her strangeness. She had a way of imparting knowledge that never made people feel stupid, unlike other scientists he'd worked with. She was exceedingly talented, and it didn't take long before he was as confident in her skills as his own: If it could be found, she'd find it; if she said it was so, he could take it to the judge. He'd discovered quite by accident one day that like him, Abby spoke American Sign Language. He hadn't had the chance to regularly speak the language in years. It just added one more level of commonality to a friendship that was already one of the closest he'd had since leaving the military.

The last couple of years had been particularly hard on Abby. She'd been the target of a hit-man hired to kill her to prevent her testimony against a very successful embezzler. After a failed attempt to poison her in a 'lab accident,' the hit man had posed as a federal marshal and kidnapped her on the way to court. She'd managed to take care of him thanks to a Taser Ziva had given her. Gibbs had been able to do nothing but laugh when they finally caught up with her and found her standing in the doorway of the van he'd used to kidnap her, the gunman writhing on the ground in agony as she hit him again and again with 30,000 volts, all the while screaming at him to stop looking up her skirt.

While that was going on, she'd had a crazy ex-boyfriend stalking her, determined to 'protect her' from other men. The boyfriend was what had distracted them from awareness of the hit man and nearly let him get away with it. That was the first time Abby had hidden her troubles from Gibbs, failing to tell her the lunatic was refusing to let go. When they wrapped that one up, Gibbs had discovered the boyfriend was planning on killing Abby and faking her suicide. If he couldn't have her, no one could. Testimony from both Abby and Gibbs himself had assured he went away for a long time.

Then there was the lab rat who'd been forced on her by Jenny. She'd asked for a raise, citing her huge workload. Instead, the Director hired her an assistant. A month after he showed up, the rat had tried to frame DiNozzo for murder. When Abby figured it out, she'd taken him down too. Gibbs, DiNozzo and McGee had busted into the lab, guns drawn, to find Abby sitting in her lab chair, the rat lying on the floor hog-tied with duct tape and soaked with Caf-Pow, screaming his head off behind a duct tape gag.

The year before that was Ari, the international terrorist bent on destroying Gibbs. First, he'd taken Ducky, Kate and Ducky's former assistant hostage in autopsy. Ari had managed to escape, leaving Gibbs with a gunshot wound to the shoulder and a determination bordering on obsession to find him and put him down. Ari, for his part, decided the best way to torture Gibbs was to kill the women in his life. First he'd assassinated Kate Todd, a former secret service agent Gibbs had brought onto his team and a woman he considered his friend. Then he'd gone after Abby. The rifle shot he'd put through her lab window less than 12 hours after Kate's death had narrowly missed. Only DiNozzo's tackling her and dragging her out of the line of fire, followed by Gibbs' quick thinking at hitting the lights, had prevented a follow-up shot. Gibbs felt a pain in his chest thinking of how close he'd come to losing them both in one day. He rubbed at it.

Worst of all, the explosion in Norfolk Harbor a year ago that nearly killed him, and his aborted attempt to retire. The hardest part about that day, the day he decided to throw his career away, was the look on Abby's face when he'd said goodbye. He'd put a finger to her lips, shushing her, knowing that if she said anything, his resolve would falter. Then when he 'temporarily' returned, and saw his picture on all her monitors, he knew he couldn't stay away. He couldn't leave Abby.

Which was the strangest part of all. He'd actually tried to explain it to Hollis Mann after they'd been dating for awhile, how he felt about Abby. But he couldn't put the words together. She was like a daughter, and a baby sister, and a treasure so precious that he wanted to protect her from all that was evil in the world. It had nearly killed him, the day they'd lost Kate, the day Ari had shot out the window of Abby's lab, to sit on the floor in the dark and hold her and promise her that he would keep her safe, knowing he might not be able to.

And now, here she was in the hospital, the victim of who knows what kind of bastard, someone she hadn't even told him about. Why? Why didn't she want him to know?

"Gentlemen?" a voice from behind him made Gibbs turn. DiNozzo and McGee stood. A doctor in a lab coat over a Lieutenant Commander's uniform stepped into the room.

"Dr. Charlie Dupree. I'm going to be Abby's attending physician while she's here. I understand you're her family?"

"Friends," Gibbs said. "Special Agents Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee. NCIS." He introduced them.

"Lt. Fairchild said you were family, Agent Gibbs."

"What can you tell us?" Gibbs asked, ignoring the implied request for clarification.

"Abby was successfully extubated, and she's being moved to a room now. She'll probably sleep most of the day, but you can see her if you'd like."

"How is she?" McGee asked.

"She's stable, in some pain, but we've got her on IV pain killers. The surgery was a complete success. She's being admitted for observation, standard practice after this type of injury. Barring complications, she'll be discharged tomorrow morning, assuming there's someone to stay with her for a few days. She's going to be in some considerable discomfort from her injuries, and she'll probably have trouble getting around for the next couple days. It would be best if she wasn't home alone. Does she have someone who can take care of her?"

"We'll see to it," Gibbs said.

"Good. I've found that patients often recover faster away from the hospital." He paused and considered them before continuing. "Is NCIS running an investigation into this assault?"

"Yes," Gibbs said. Then, reading the doctor's expression: "You have something for us?"

The doctor paused again, as if uncertain.

"I'm a little concerned about some things I saw while I was examining her. This isn't the first time she's been assaulted recently."

Gibbs felt a stone settle into his stomach. He'd suspected as much, but to have it said aloud made him sick.

"Did she tell you that?" DiNozzo asked.

"No. She denied there'd been multiple attacks when I asked. But there are clear signs of bruises in varying stages of healing on her limbs and torso. The oldest dates back at least a week. I'd estimate she's been assaulted two other times minimum over the course of the last week. Perhaps more."

"And she didn't give you any indication of who might have done it?" Gibbs asked.

"No. She claimed her injuries were all a result of the assault last night. But I'm telling you that is not medically possible."

McGee and DiNozzo looked at each other, then at Gibbs, waiting for him to take the lead.

"Was there any sign of sexual assault?" Gibbs asked, startling them both. The doctor considered, then spoke precisely.

"There was nothing that would lead me to believe she had engaged in sexual relations against her will."

Gibbs frowned at his careful choice of words, then nodded. "Can you provide documentation of her injuries?"

"I'll need either a subpoena or her consent for her medical records. I can talk about what I found, but official records require legal authorization."

"Understood," Gibbs said.

"Is there anything else?" When no questions came, he indicated the door. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her."

They followed the doctor up one floor on the elevator. He lead them to a private room at the end of the hall.

"If you need me, the nurses will call. Let me know if there's anything else I can do." He took his leave.

The three agents moved into the room. Abby was still hooked up to monitors and IVs, but as promised she was off the vent. She had an oxygen tube under her nose, and her breathing was shallow. Nothing that wouldn't be expected for someone with a broken rib, even with pain killers on board. She was still pale, but someone had brushed her hair out. There was a black teddy bear under her right arm. Gibbs recognized it immediately: He'd given it to her for her birthday two years before. It was dressed as a Goth, with studded collar and cuffs, pierced ears, chains and a red skull and crossbones on its belly. Gibbs remembered Abby had squealed with delight when she'd opened the box, and nearly knocked him over with an exuberant hug. Seeing it now, under her arm, gave him hope. She'd obviously brought it with her. Maybe she wasn't angry with him after all. They all watched her sleep for a moment before Gibbs spoke softly.

"DiNozzo, I want you working this," Gibbs said. "McGee, you're with Abby. Do not leave her alone, and until she wakes up, no one you don't personally know gets in here. Got it?"

"Got it, Boss. What about her family?"

"They're not local." He turned to face McGee. "I mean what I say. Until she wakes up, no one you don't personally know, or who isn't in uniform and carrying ID, gets through this door. And after she wakes, do not leave her alone with anyone, no matter what she says. We don't know who did this, and until we do know, I don't want anyone slipping in who might make this worse."

"I understand," McGee said.

"Call me when she wakes up, before you ask her about what happened. I want to hear it myself, and I don't want her to have to go through it twice." When McGee nodded, he turned to DiNozzo.

"DiNozzo, go get cleaned up, then call Ziva and have her meet you at Abby's. Work her apartment."

"Got it, Boss."

"See if you can find out if she's been dating anyone. If you get a name, call me. And remember where you are. When you're done, clean up the best you can."

"On it."

"You have her keys?" He asked McGee.

"And her purse, in the trunk of my car," McGee said.

"Give them to DiNozzo." He turned to Tony. "Come back to the Yard when you're done."

DiNozzo nodded. Gibbs took a few steps toward the door, then turned back.

"Is your gear in your car?" he asked McGee.

"Yes," McGee said hesitantly.

"We're going to need some pictures. Of her injuries. I don't want a tech to take them. Can you do it, Tim?"

McGee swallowed. "Yes," he said.

"Thank-you. DiNozzo, bring up his gear."

Gibbs headed out. McGee moved around to the far side of the bed and pulled up a chair. DiNozzo watched Abby breathe for a moment before turning to McGee.

"If she wakes up, call me. Before you call Gibbs."

"What?" McGee asked, startled. "Why? You heard him. We're not supposed to interview her until he gets here."

DiNozzo moved over closer to him and spoke urgently. "McGee, listen to me. We need to find out why she's afraid of Gibbs. You think she's going to tell us that with him here?"

"Afraid of him? Why would she be afraid of Gibbs?" McGee asked, confused.

"Well I don't know, Probie. That's why we need to talk to her before Gibbs does. Something's not right here. When she wakes up, call me."

"Tony…" McGee was clearly unsure.

"Just do it. I'll take the heat from Gibbs. We have to know what he has to do with this."

"You don't think he hurt her?" When DiNozzo didn't immediately deny it, McGee continued. "Tony, that's crazy. Gibbs would never hurt Abby." On the bed, Abby twitched. DiNozzo shushed him.

"I know. But we still have to rule it out. When Abby wakes up, call me. Okay?"

McGee nodded hesitantly. "Okay. I don't like it, but okay."

"You don't have to like it. Just do it. Give me your car keys." McGee handed them over.

"Back up in a minute."

* * *

To Be Continued...

Feedback Welcome here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	5. Chapter 5

**Lying Eyes Part Five**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs got back to his own house just past 6:30 a.m. Hollis's staff car was still parked in the driveway. Gibbs entered the kitchen through the back door and found her sitting at his island drinking coffee. She was dressed in her fatigues, her shoulder-length blond hair twisted up in a tight French braid at the nape of her neck, her black beret, duty belt and holstered sidearm on the table next to her. He liked seeing her this way, fresh for the day and ready to do battle. She was no weak, submissive female, and he loved it. For the first time since he lost Shannon, he had found a woman who wasn't afraid to stand up to him, could take him on as an equal, and sometimes win. More importantly, she was willing to accept him as he was without making demands or pushing him to change to suit her needs. He couldn't get his head around how lucky he was. She was brilliant, had an analytical mind and great instincts, and she was really easy on the eyes. Frankly, he couldn't understand why this decorated Army Lieutenant Colonel who could have had her pick from among the handsome, brilliant and younger men she worked with at the Army's Criminal Investigative Division had instead chosen him: an almost worn-out former Marine Gunnery Sergeant with serious trust issues and two bad knees. He caught himself staring and spoke.

"You make enough of that for me?" he asked her.

"Not sure there is such a thing as enough coffee for you, Jethro. How's Abby?"

"She'll be alright." He poured himself a mug full and turned to lean on the counter.

"What happened?" Hollis asked.

"Someone beat her up. Broke her rib, punctured her spleen."

"God. Who did it?"

Gibbs took a long pull on his coffee. "Don't know yet. She hasn't said much."

"You think it's personal? Or case-related?" Hollis asked.

"Don't know. Gonna find out, though." He drank more coffee. "I've got to get cleaned up. Call you later?"

"I'll be looking forward to it." Gibbs drained his cup and grabbed a refill. He headed out, but stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked back.

"I'm glad you came by. I had a nice night."

Hollis grinned. "Me too, Jethro. Let's do it again sometime."

Gibbs returned the grin. He went back to her and pulled her head toward him with one hand, holding his coffee mug high and out of the way with the other. He kissed her, long and hard.

"Let's do it again soon." Gibbs let his fingers trail along the side of her face, under her jaw, and touched his index finger to her lips. When he stepped away, she caught his hand and tried to pull him back. He rolled his head on his neck and smiled before pulling free.

"I've gotta go to work, and so do you. I'll call you."

He headed to the shower. As he undressed, Gibbs heard Hollis's car start up and drive off.

Jethro knew he was sailing in dangerous water with this one. He'd been divorced three times, Hollis twice. Neither of them were exactly looking for another commitment. But they weren't just a casual fling, either. He'd had his share of those in the past, but this relationship felt different. It felt… serious. And truth be told it was scaring the hell out of him. He'd lost three wives because he was something of a bastard, he knew that, and he was pretty sure he hadn't changed. He really didn't want to screw this up.

Hollis had shown up with take-out Chinese half an hour after he got home last night. They'd dined on the workbench in his basement, then she'd sat on a stool and watched him work on the sailboat he was building by hand. They'd talked a little, but mostly she just watched. Around midnight, by mutual unspoken agreement, they'd gone to bed. No sex, just a comfortable sharing of space. Not that either of them was unwilling. But it felt nice to just lay there in the dark, Gibbs aware of every breath she took, watching her long after she'd fallen asleep.

"Get a grip, Jethro," he said aloud as he felt the familiar tightening in his groin. He turned the shower to cold and stepped in.

"Aarrrgg…" he groaned as the cold water stabbed into him. He stood there for a minute, letting the cold do its job, then turned the hot up and quickly washed.

He'd been asleep less than three hours when DiNozzo called, and he suspected it was going to be a long day. He'd start by running through Abby's active cases himself, see if anything caught his attention. If DiNozzo came back with any names, he'd take the lead on finding and interviewing Abby's current and recently former boyfriends. The doctor had said Abby would sleep through the day, but if she woke up, he'd have to spend some time talking with her too. He had to call Abby's parents and let them know she'd been hurt. Plus there was that damn rapist and murderer to track. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

It took Gibbs two hours to go through every case they'd made that was still pending trial. On none of them was the forensics the only evidence. Only two had Abby as anything more than a routine witness, and neither of them felt right to Gibbs. He'd have them checked out anyway.

Just after 9:30, he called McGee for an update: Abby was still out, in no apparent distress. Armed with that information, he left his coffee on his desk and headed up to MTAC. It was time to call Abby's parents.

Gibbs had never met Abby's parents in person, but he'd said 'hi' on several occasions via videoconference link. Her parents were both deaf and Abby occasionally video chatted with them on the computer in her lab. For this, he wanted something a little bigger. The main screen in MTAC would do just fine. He found the room available, had the techs bring up the lights on the 'stage' and called Abby's childhood home.

"Special Agent Gibbs! How nice to hear from you," Abby's mother signed. She wore a large smile. She was working in her kitchen, where Abby often found her when she called, and talking on the laptop on the kitchen table.

"Good morning, ma'am," Gibbs signed back. "And it's Jethro." He used the single-letter 'name sign' he'd been given years before. "Is Mr. Sciuto at home?"

"Already off to work." She paused, frowned, tilted her head to the side. Here it comes, Gibbs thought.

"Is something wrong, Jethro?" she asked. She sat down directly in front of the camera.

"Yes ma'am. Abby's been hurt. She'll be alright, but she's in the hospital."

"What happened?" she asked. She seemed worried, but not excessively.

"We're not sure yet. It looks like she might have been mugged." When she looked confused, he signed it differently: assaulted. She nodded her understanding.

"How badly is she hurt?" She didn't seem too upset. So far, so good.

"She has a broken rib, and she had to have surgery to fix a puncture in her spleen," Gibbs signed. Mrs. Sciuto seemed confused. She waved to stop him and repeated part of what he'd said.

"Surgery to fix what?"

"A puncture…" she shook her head, and he spelled it out: puncture. She nodded, and supplied the correct sign. He'd been holding his hands wrong.

"Go on," she said.

"A puncture," he signed it right, and she nodded her approval. "In her spleen." That sign he knew he didn't know, so he spelled it out. "But she's going to be alright." Ms. Sciuto nodded, thought for a moment.

"You're sure she'll be okay, Jethro?"

"Yes ma'am. Doctor says she'll hurt for awhile, but she'll be released tomorrow."

"Abby always said your word was good. If you say she'll be okay, I believe she will. Should we come up?" she asked.

"I can make the arrangements if you'd like to. We'd be happy to fly you here."

"When can we talk to her?" she asked. Gibbs sensed movement behind him and turned to see Jenny coming down the ramp. He held up a finger and pointed off screen, indicating he'd been distracted. Jenny motioned him to continue. He returned to the conversation.

"There was someone here," Gibbs explained. In Deaf culture, it would have been rude not to. "I can probably arrange a TDD or relay call this evening sometime, from the hospital. The doctor said she would sleep all day."

"I'll let Abby's dad know. We'll stay here until we talk to her. If she gets worse, you'll call?"

"Absolutely."

"Mrs. Sciuto?" Jenny said from beside him. She had stepped into the camera's view. Gibbs pointed to her, then to himself, indicating she would speak and he would translate.

"NCIS Director Jenny Shepard. I was terribly sorry to hear that Abby had been hurt. You can be certain we are going to do everything we can to find the man who did this and bring him to justice." Gibbs was a little slower translating that speaking his own words, and it took him a moment to catch up.

"I know you will," Gibbs spoke the words Mrs. Sciuto signed back. "It's an honor to speak with you, Director Shepard. Abby has often told us what a pleasure it is to work for you."

"Thank you. We feel privileged to have her on our team. She is an excellent scientist. The work she does for us has helped put many criminals behind bars, and she has been invaluable to our national security on more than one occasion." Gibbs stumbled over 'invaluable' but managed to get the point across. Mrs. Sciuto nodded, her smile widening with pride.

"Her father and I are very proud of her."

"Did Special Agent Gibbs offer to fly you out to see Abby?" Even though he knew the answer, Gibbs knew his translation protocol and waited for Mrs. Sciuto to speak.

"He did, thank you. We're going to wait until we speak to her before we decide whether or not to come."

"Very good. If there's anything else I can do for you, you'll let Agent Gibbs know?"

"I will. Thank-you, Director Shepard."

Jenny nodded and stepped away from the screen, taking a seat in the gallery.

"You sign very well, Jethro," Mrs. Sciuto continued when she was gone. "Do you have deaf family?"

"No ma'am. Just something I picked up along the way." Gibbs noticed one of the techs making a 'wrap it up' motion. "I have to cut this short, we don't have much more time on the teleconference. You have my number?"

"At the office."

"Take my cell." He waited while she got a pen, then gave her the number. "You call me if you decide you want to come up. I'll see to the arrangements."

"I will. Thank you, Jethro. I look forward to talking to you soon." She reached toward the computer and the transmission snowed out. Gibbs stepped back. The screens went to color bars, and the lights were dimmed again.

"Any updates?" Jenny asked as Gibbs took the seat next to her.

"On what?"

"Abby, the rapist, Lt. Colonel Mann, the hunt for bin Laden…" Gibbs rolled his head toward her, looking at her with a wry grin.

"Abby's still sleeping, we've got no new leads on the rapist, Lt. Col. Mann is none of your business, and if I had anything on bin Laden, I wouldn't be keeping it a secret."

"None of my business, Jethro?" She smiled at him.

"Nope. What've you got?" He indicated the main screen, which had switched to a view of a desert field command post. Marines in fatigues were moving around the background, but none looked ready to take the empty seat in the center of the frame. On the smaller views were three empty desks in empty offices: One labeled Gitmo, one Bahrain, and one on board the aircraft carrier USS Eisenhower, somewhere in the Persian Gulf.

"It's going to be a conference about some Intel discovered in a raid last night in Fallujah. The latest master plan from al Qaeda. You want to sit in?"

"Domestic target or overseas?"

"Overseas," Jenny said.

"No thanks. I've got enough problems right here." He headed out.

DiNozzo and Ziva had appeared while he was upstairs.

"What'd you find?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo spoke first.

"Broken furniture, a few blood drops - probably Abby's - no signs of forced entry. Lots of prints, most of them probably Abby's, but we took them anyway. No weapons, no sign that he hit her with anything that's still in the house. There were boot prints, mostly in dirt, one partial in blood, too big to be hers. We collected more than 100 samples: fibers, hairs, the dirt, some fluids. We'll have to find out when the last time was Abby had her apartment cleaned, and who's been to visit. Oh, and the locks on her front door were new."

"The deadbolt was installed about ten days ago. Any indication of who she's been dating?" Gibbs asked.

"There was a card in the kitchen trash from Phil, no last name, apologizing for being a jerk," Ziva said. "Torn up. Hand-delivered, no return address. We collected it. A vase of flowers was broken on the kitchen floor. Looks like they hit the wall first. No florist card with them."

"Dozen roses, black and red? Vase might have been a laboratory beaker?"

"Yeah, could have been," DiNozzo said. "How'd you know, Boss?"

"I bought them. Let me see the pictures."

DiNozzo popped a flash card into his computer, and a few clicks later, a picture of Abby's front door appeared on the plasma behind Gibbs' desk.

Gibbs watched while DiNozzo paged through dozens of pictures of the damage. He narrated what they were looking at. Gibbs was pleasantly surprised when DiNozzo withheld his usual editorial comments. The stuff in Abby's apartment was like her: unusual, unique, eclectic. Downright bizarre at times. Then again, Gibbs was certain he wouldn't want his team going through his house with a camera.

He noted what DiNozzo had described: the damage throughout the apartment, the fibers, blood and other fluids, the boot prints, the flowers and broken vase on the kitchen floor, the splash of water where the vase had hit the wall first. There was a picture of the torn up card as it had lain in the trash can, then another of it with the pieces in proper alignment so the words could be seen. Sorry for being a jerk. Call me. Phil.

"That's it, Boss. We threw out the stuff that wasn't repairable, cleaned up the debris and brought it in."

"Witnesses?"

"No one home in the building when we were there. We'll have to go by again this evening." Gibbs nodded.

"No other indication of who this 'Phil' might be?"

"No other cards or letters from him at the apartment. Her PDA is missing," DiNozzo said.

"Missing?" Gibbs asked.

"Not in the house, not in her purse, not on her."

"Her office?" Gibbs asked.

"Doesn't make sense she'd have left it here, but I can check."

"Her cell?"

"No one named Phil in the contacts list," DiNozzo said. "And no calls in the log to or from anyone with that caller ID."

"Phone records?" Gibbs asked.

"They just arrived by fax," Ziva said. "Do you want me to pull financials as well?"

Gibbs paused. Abby was not going to like this.

"Not yet. Let me talk to her first. I'm going to search her office."

"I'll give you a hand, Boss," DiNozzo volunteered.

"Do I look like I need a hand, DiNozzo? Help Ziva."

* * *

Lt. Hanson was going through boxes of evidence when Gibbs walked into Abby's lab. He carried a cup of coffee in each hand.

"What've you got, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs," she said. "No new evidence was generated by the interviews Agents DiNozzo and David conducted."

"Anything on the evidence from this morning?"

She frowned. "Agent DiNozzo just dropped it off. I've barely started cataloging it. It's going to be awhile before I can give you anything."

"You know what this is?" he asked her.

"Evidence from the assault on Abby Sciuto," she said. "I'll treat it with utmost care, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded, then held out one of the coffee cups. "Coffee?"

She seemed startled, then took it in one gloved hand. "Thank you." She took a sip and tried not to grimace.

"Strong is better," Gibbs said, and smiled. "Call my cell when you get something." He pulled out one of his business cards and handed it to her.

Without another word, he stepped through into Abby's office. He started with her desk. As he began to search through the drawers, he knew some of what it had been like for DiNozzo and Ziva at Abby's apartment. To be pawing through things Abby thought were personal gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He couldn't think of her as just another victim. This was Abby. And this was weird.

It took him 20 minutes to go through every drawer, every shelf, and page through every book in Abby's office. He found nothing that would lead them to 'Phil.' He did not find her PDA.

Moving back into the main part of the lab, he went to the only place Abby kept personal items: the center computer consoles. He poked around them, looking under the keyboards and between the monitors.

"Can I help you find something?" Lt. Hanson asked.

"Nope," Gibbs said. He finished up and glanced around the lab, making sure he hadn't missed anything. There was nothing here. Her PDA had either been lost or stolen. Knowing Abby, he suspected the latter.

* * *

McGee was dozing in a chair next to Abby's bed. People had been coming in and out of the room all morning. McGee eyed each carefully, making sure they had hospital ID, and watched them while they worked. He took his promise to Gibbs and his commitment to Abby very seriously.

It was just before noon and McGee was mostly asleep when Abby began to fuss. He was startled fully awake when her soft cries became words.

"No, no, don't. Please." Her head tossed back and forth and she started to twist in the bed.

"Abby?" McGee got up and moved to the bedside.

"No. Don't hurt… Gibbs… no, please. Don't…" She looked like she was struggling against something.

"Abby, it's alright. Wake up," McGee said.

"Gibbs! Stop! No, don't!" Her eyes popped open and she gasped, then moaned in pain. Her eyes were wild. She was searching for something.

"Abby! It's Tim. You're alright. You're safe." Her eyes latched onto him. She raised a hand and grabbed his arm.

"Don't let him. Hurt… Stop him!"

"Who, Abby? Stop who?"

"Gibbs. Make him stop! He's gonna… No. Stop!" A nurse came bustling into the room in response to the alarm on the monitor over her bed.

"Okay, it's alright. I'll make him stop," McGee said. He patted her hand.

"Abby, you need to slow down your breathing. Can you do that?" the nurse said. Abby turned to look toward her.

"Stop him," Abby said to her.

"Abby? Can you hear me?" she asked. She took out a penlight and shone it into Abby's still-wild eyes.

"Gibbs," Abby begged. "Stop. Please."

McGee looked helplessly at the nurse. "What's happening?"

"I'm not sure. She might be having a nightmare. Abby! Wake up!" She took hold of Abby's hand and squeezed it, hard. Abby didn't respond.

"Talk to her," the nurse said.

"Abby? Can you hear me?" Abby's head turned back to that side, and her eyes settled on his face again.

"McGee?" she whispered.

"Yeah, Abby. I'm here."

"Gibbs is gonna…" She took a breath. "You have to make him stop."

"I will, Abby. I'll stop him. It's alright. You're safe," McGee said.

"Safe," she said softly. "Gibbs. Safe." Her eyes drifted shut and her breathing began to even out.

"Abby?" the nurse called. There was no response. She took out a stethoscope and listened briefly at Abby's chest. She examined the monitor and recycled the blood pressure cuff.

"What was that?" McGee asked.

"It happens sometimes, when surgical anesthetics are wearing off. It's scary, but nothing to worry about. As long as her vitals don't go too far out of whack, and she doesn't reinjure herself." She checked the IV flows.

"Whatever it was, it seems to have passed. Call me if it happens again."

After she left, McGee stood next to the bed, holding her hand. What the hell was Abby talking about? Stop Gibbs from doing what? Hurting her? It wasn't possible. Was it?

McGee sat back in the chair. His own heart was pounding. He had to call Tony.

* * *

To Be Continued...

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	6. Chapter 6

**Lying Eyes Part 6**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

DiNozzo snapped his cell shut and sat thinking. What McGee had just told him was shocking. Despite his 'O-dark-thirty' thoughts, he hadn't really believed Gibbs had anything to do with Abby's injuries. It just didn't make any sense. But there it was. Abby had woken briefly from her drug-sleep begging McGee to make Gibbs stop hurting her.

What was he supposed to do now?

Gibbs had come up from Abby's lab to say he hadn't found her PDA or any other related evidence. Then he'd left the squadroom again, saying nothing about where he was going.

"What?" Ziva said from her desk. DiNozzo realized he'd been staring into space.

"Nothing. I'm going down to the lab. If Gibbs comes back, call me right away."

"What are you up to, Tony?"

"Nothing. Just do it, please?" Ziva was startled by the polite tone of his request and reluctantly agreed. DiNozzo went for the elevator.

"Lieutenant Hanson," DiNozzo said as he stepped into the lab. "I need your help with something."

"Agent DiNozzo, I'm sort of busy right now." She was looking at something under the microscope.

DiNozzo shook his head. "I'm serious. Business."

She looked up. "In that case, what can I do for you?"

"Do you have anything on the prints from Abby's apartment?"

"I've scanned them all, and eliminated Abby's. I've got seventeen partials and eight complete. I just started running the best through AFIS." She indicated the monitors on the center console, which showed two different rapid-scan comparisons running.

"Stop the run. I need to compare what you've got to a specific set of exemplars."

"You have a suspect?" she asked. She went to Abby's computer and hit a few keys, stopping the scan.

"Just another known set for elimination. Agent Gibbs was over there last week."

"Oh, that's easy enough. I wonder why he didn't mention that earlier." She tapped away, pulling up Gibbs' prints from his service file, and setting up the run. It almost immediately came up with a positive match. Then another, and another. DiNozzo watched while 13 of the partials and six of the compete prints were positively matched.

"That leaves me with four partials and two completes to deal with. Makes it much easier. Thanks, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"It's Tony," he said absently as he considered that. The majority of the visitor prints in Abby's apartment were Gibbs', but he hadn't mentioned being there. This was looking worse all the time.

"Any way to tell how long those prints were there?" he asked.

"You said he was there last week," she said.

"I know. Can you prove that?" he repeated.

"No. Sometimes, for example, if the donor had liquid on their hands, you can tell the age of the prints by the moisture content in the liquid. But these are just skin oil. Why?"

DiNozzo considered, trying to come up with a reasonable lie. He drew a blank.

"What about the boot prints. Have you identified them yet?" he asked.

"Men's size 10 or 11, no logo in the portion of the tread we have that identifies brand. The tread pattern matches many common forms of work and hiking boots, too many to isolate. But there's a cut through the tread of the heel of the left boot. If you find the boots, I can positively match them."

"Could they match Gore-Tex Hiking boots?" Again, the lieutenant frowned.

"What do you know, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Nothing. Could they?" She consulted a printed list.

"Possibly." DiNozzo's phone rang and he snapped it open.

"Gibbs is back," Ziva said, then she disconnected.

"Thanks," DiNozzo said to Lt. Hanson. He headed back upstairs.

So what did he have? Gibbs' prints in the apartment, and he hadn't mentioned being there. Flowers that he'd admitted giving her smashed on the kitchen floor. Boot prints that possibly matched the high-end hiking boots Gibbs was fond of wearing, in what could be Gibbs' size. Abby seeming to be afraid of him last night. And now she wakes up from a nightmare begging McGee to stop Gibbs from hurting her. What the hell was he going to do?

Back in the squadroom, Gibbs was just settling in at his desk.

"What'd you get on Abby's phone records?" Gibbs asked the room. Ziva spoke up.

"The only recurring calls on her home line are to and from her parents, McGee and you. On her cell, more than a dozen calls this month from Sister Rosita at St. Elizabeth's Church…"

"Her bowling captain," Gibbs supplied, and Ziva looked confused. "Who else?" he asked.

"Recurring calls from you and McGee again, a couple of friends – female mostly – night clubs, take-outs. There were multiple unidentified calls to and from a pre-paid cell. First one was two months ago, then increasing in frequency up to four or five calls a day back and forth. Three weeks ago, she stopped making calls to the number, but they kept coming in, two or three a day. The calls stopped completely for four days last week – Wednesday through Saturday – then three on Sunday, four on Monday, six yesterday. None of those has lasted more than a minute, probably just messages. No return calls from Abby in the last three weeks."

"You try the number?"

"No answer, and a mechanical voice mail voice. I didn't leave a message."

"That's our target. Track the phone, see what provider pulled the number and what carrier they issued it to."

"On it," Ziva said.

"DiNozzo?" He turned to Tony, who was leaning over the divider wall next to his desk.

"Yeah Boss?"

"What are you doing?"

DiNozzo held his eye for a moment before speaking. "I need to talk to you, Boss. In private."

Gibbs frowned, but on seeing the serious look on DiNozzo's face, grabbed his coat. "Coffee," he told Ziva.

They rode down to the street and headed for Gibbs' coffee dealer. Once they had their cups, Gibbs picked a bench.

"So talk," he said when they were seated. It was actually a nice day, for Washington DC. Seventy degrees, slightly overcast, a light breeze off the Chesapeake.

"I need to ask you something," DiNozzo said. He seemed nervous, and Gibbs watched him for a minute out of his peripheral vision.

"What, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said finally.

"Why didn't Abby want McGee to call you this morning?"

"I don't know," Gibbs replied with a shrug. He waited, and when there was nothing more, he prompted him: "Anything else?"

"You know I used to work for Baltimore PD, right?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, so?"

"We had a lot of domestic violence, actually one of our most common calls, and one of the things I used to notice about victims is that sometimes when they should have been calling their husband, or boyfriend or whatever, they didn't." DiNozzo stopped again. He looked around them, seeing no one within earshot, and continued.

"Then today, some other things came up, and well, I know there's nothing to it, but other people are going to put it together, so I've got to ask…" he felt silent again. Gibbs waited, then sighed.

"DiNozzo, I'm tired, I'm pissed, and I'm looking for someone to kill. You gonna volunteer, or you gonna spit it out?" He took a drink.

"Where were you last night?" DiNozzo asked the question, then held Gibbs' eye.

"What?" Gibbs asked, as if he didn't quite understand.

"Where did you go after you left the office last night?" he asked. There was a moment of silence while Gibbs processed that.

"What the hell are you asking, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said. He turned slightly on the bench so he could look at DiNozzo straight on.

"I know there's nothing to it. I know you couldn't possibly hurt Abby. I know there's a reasonable explanation. But here it is: Abby was acting like she was afraid of you, and didn't want McGee to call you. Your prints were all over her apartment. The boot prints in the house are size 10 or 11 work boots, with treads that possibly match the Gore-Tex hikers you're wearing right now. You gave her flowers which ended up smashed on the kitchen floor. You wanted to be there the first time Abby told her story. You wouldn't let me help search her office. And half an hour ago, she woke up from a nightmare begging McGee to stop you from hurting her."

That stopped Gibbs cold. "What exactly did she say?"

"Stop him, make him stop. He's hurting me. She used your name several times. It was nightmare gibberish. But it was clear she wanted McGee to stop you."

"Stop me? From hurting her? That's insane." DiNozzo held his glare without flinching.

"I know it is, and I'm sorry, but I need an answer. Where did you go when you left here last night?"

Gibbs shook his head. He was clearly steaming. DiNozzo was glad he'd decided to do this in a public place. The chances of Gibbs killing him were slimmer if there were potential witnesses.

"And what if I don't have an alibi, DiNozzo? You gonna question me? Haul me down to interrogation? Make me sit on the wrong side of the glass for awhile?"

"Boss, please," DiNozzo said quietly. "Just give me an answer."

Gibbs took a breath before speaking. The war of emotion in his brain was threatening to overwhelm. He was shocked and more than a little pissed that DiNozzo would even think he could hurt Abby, confused over what she might have seen in her nightmares, startled at the case DiNozzo seemed to already be building against him, strangely grateful that he had an alibi so his team wouldn't waste valuable time ruling him out as a suspect, and – somewhere in the back of his mind – proud that DiNozzo had somehow found the cojones to put his own feelings aside and ask the question the evidence demanded he ask.

"I don't know why Abby doesn't want me involved or what she was dreaming about. But I could never, for any reason, lay a hand on that girl. And if I ever did, you wouldn't have to worry about investigating me: I'd throw myself in the brig."

He paused, took a calming breath. "I went directly home, ate in my basement, worked on my boat, and went to bed. Where I still was when you called."

"Can anyone verify that?" DiNozzo asked. He'd seen the conflicting emotions passing over Gibbs' face, and figured he might as well get it all out now, while he still had a chance at escape.

"Lt. Col. Mann. Call her." He pulled out his cell. DiNozzo looked relieved and didn't take it.

"It's alright. You're not lying, Boss."

Gibbs shook his head. "Don't let me down now, DiNozzo. Finish it."

DiNozzo looked at him for a moment, then took the cell. He worked the address book until he found the right listing, and made the call.

"Hello Jethro," she said, obviously having read the caller ID.

"Good afternoon, Colonel, it's Anthony DiNozzo from NCIS."

"Special Agent DiNozzo. Why are you calling me from Agent Gibbs' phone?"

"I just need to ask you a question, Ma'am. Can you verify Agent Gibbs' whereabouts last night?"

There was silence. "Why are you asking?"

"Please just answer the question, Ma'am."

"Tell him, Holly," Gibbs said loudly from next to him.

"He was at his house. From sometime before I got there at approximately 19:30 until you called him this morning."

"Were you with him the entire time?"

"Yes. What's this about, Agent DiNozzo?"

"What did you do while you were there?" Again, there was a pause.

"I brought over dinner, we ate, worked on the boat, and after that… I'm not sure that it's any of your business. Suffice it to say I was with him the rest of the night."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Colonel Mann. I'll let Gibbs talk to you now." He handed the phone back.

"I'll explain later." He snapped the phone shut and put it away. Gibbs turned back square on the bench and stretched his legs out in front of himself, crossing his ankles in a pose of relaxation he didn't feel. For a long moment, he stared out across the Navy Yard, sipping his coffee and saying nothing. DiNozzo sat beside him, tense. Finally, Gibbs put an arm up behind DiNozzo. Tony flinched, expecting a smack on the head, or worse. Instead, Gibbs grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed gently.

"Don't know where you got the balls, Tony. Guess I raised you up right after all."

"I had to ask, Boss. Not that I thought for even a second that you might have done it, but the evidence…" Gibbs interrupted.

"The evidence. I was at Abby's Saturday before last installing the new deadbolt. The flowers were because she'd been sick. I wanted to be there when she told her story for exactly the reason I said: I don't want her to go through it twice." He paused, drank coffee, glanced down at his feet.

"As for the boots, they're the biggest seller in the LL Bean catalog. Abby ordered them for me online." Despite the tension, DiNozzo had to choke back an almost hysterical need to laugh at the idea of Gibbs buying anything online. Gibbs continued.

"I can't imagine what she was talking about at the hospital, or why she's trying to keep me out of it. When she's fully awake, you talk to her. Without me. Find out what's going on."

"I will," DiNozzo said. They were silent for a minute before Gibbs spoke again.

"I understand why you had to ask, DiNozzo," he began.

"But I'm going to pay for it, aren't I?" Tony interrupted.

"Oh yeah," Gibbs said. "Count on it." He delivered a light smack to the back of DiNozzo's head, then got up. "Break's over." He headed back to the office, DiNozzo on his heels.

* * *

to be continued

feedback welcome, either here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	7. Chapter 7

**Lying Eyes Part 7**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs and DiNozzo arrived back at Bethesda just after 4:00. Ziva was still working on tracking the pre-paid cell and not getting very far. McGee had called Tony to say Abby was awake. After a visit to Lt. Hanson in Abby's lab, Gibbs had a remote recording and broadcasting set up that would work through DiNozzo's PDA. Gibbs would listen in from down the hall while DiNozzo talked to Abby.

"Tell McGee to go home, get some dinner and get cleaned up, then I want him helping Ziva," Gibbs told DiNozzo. "Talk to Abby, figure out what she's afraid of, why she doesn't want me on this. When you're ready to move on to the attack, call me. She doesn't need to know I've been listening."

"Got it, Boss."

"Give me a radio check." He stuck the tiny speaker into his ear. DiNozzo flipped open his PDA and set it up so it would audio record and transmit while he took notes. The broadcast range was limited, but it would do for their purpose.

"How's this?" he asked. Gibbs flinched at the volume.

"A little less would be good."

"Sorry, Boss." DiNozzo moved the PDA to arm's length.

"This thing gonna interfere with the equipment in there?"

"Don't think so."

"Good. Be nice to her, DiNozzo. Remember I'm listening, and you're already on my list."

"Will do."

Gibbs took his coffee into the lounge up the hall from Abby's room while DiNozzo continued on.

* * *

In the room, McGee was still sitting in the chair he'd been dozing in. Ducky was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, holding Abby's hand and talking in low tones. She was mostly upright against the reclining bed. The black teddy bear was lying on the covers next to her. She looked miserable.

"Hey Abs. How're you feeling?" DiNozzo asked.

"Beat up," Abby said. Her voice was rougher than usual.

"What does the doctor say?" he asked.

"Everything looks good so far," Ducky supplied. "The surgeon says the spleen repair went perfectly. She'll be able to go home in the morning."

"That's really great to hear, Abby." DiNozzo looked over at McGee and frowned.

"You should go home." He sniffed the air. "And take a shower."

"When Gibbs relieves me, I will," McGee said firmly.

"Which reminds me. Gibbs says you're relieved. He wants you back at the office working with Ziva on the evidence we collected. After you get cleaned up." He looked at McGee hard, telling him not to ask questions.

"You have more evidence on the rapes? I should be there working on it," Abby said, suddenly more animated.

"You're stuck here until morning, Abby. Then you're going to take a few days off," DiNozzo said.

"But I should be there," Abby said again. "That's my job."

"You take care of getting better, my dear," Ducky said. "That's your only job right now."

Abby frowned, biting her lip.

"It's alright, Abby," McGee said. He got up and stepped closer to the bed. He took hold of her other hand and squeezed it gently. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Abby nodded.

"I must be going as well, Abby," Ducky said. "I've got a few things to do back at the office, and mother doesn't like it when I'm late getting her dinner. I'll check in with you tomorrow." He kissed the back of her hand and lay it next to her, then turned to go.

As McGee passed DiNozzo, he took Tony's hand and gently slapped something into it. DiNozzo glanced down: A digital camera memory card. DiNozzo understood immediately and closed his hand around the small piece of electronics, nodding. McGee nodded in response and left. DiNozzo pocketed the card and closed the door behind them. He took the chair McGee had vacated.

"I've got a few questions to ask you, Abs," he said when he was settled. He opened his PDA and made sure the microphone side was facing her.

"I bet you do," Abby mumbled, and looked away from him. "Did Gibbs send you?"

"He did," DiNozzo said. "He's a little worried about why you don't want to talk to him. And so am I." He felt silent, waiting to see if she'd offer an explanation.

"I didn't say I didn't want to talk to him," Abby said. She turned her head back. "Is that what he thinks?"

"You told McGee not to call him last night."

"That's because I knew he'd been working extra long hours. I didn't want McGee to wake him up in the middle of the night. That's all." DiNozzo was amazed at how quickly the lie rolled off her tongue. Because it was clearly a lie. She wouldn't meet his eyes, looking instead at his right ear, and she was still biting her lip.

"Abby…" DiNozzo said reproachfully. He waited, but she didn't continue. He tried another tactic.

"Do you remember having a nightmare this afternoon?" he asked. She frowned.

"Maybe. Sort of."

"You were begging McGee to stop Gibbs from hurting you."

"What?" Abby said, her voice jumping half an octave. "No. I didn't. I wasn't. Gibbs would never hurt me. Never!"

"So what do you suppose you were talking about?"

"I don't know," she said. "But Gibbs didn't do this. He wouldn't!" Her breath was coming fast, and on the monitor above the bed, her heart rate was climbing.

"Okay, Abs. Calm down. It's alright. I'm just trying to figure this out. You were really scared when you woke up."

Abby worked to catch her breath, grimacing in pain. After a minute, she continued. "I know. I remember, being scared. But not of Gibbs."

"What then?"

"I think…" she took a few shallow breaths. "I think I was scared he'd do something. Something bad."

"Bad how?" DiNozzo asked. She chewed on her bottom lip.

"I was dreaming. I remember I was dreaming. He was hurting someone. Not me," she added quickly, looking Tony in the eye. "A man. I was afraid he was going to kill him. I wanted him to stop. He wouldn't. That must have been what I was saying when I woke up. Stop him from hurting the man. I was scared. Not of him. For him. I think I was afraid he was going to get into trouble for hurting the man."

"And why didn't you want McGee to call him last night?" DiNozzo asked again. She looked away.

"I told you, Tony. I just didn't want McGee to wake him up."

DiNozzo sighed. "Abby…"

"What?" she asked.

"Why are you lying to me, Abs?" DiNozzo asked gently.

"What makes you think I'm lying?" she asked. DiNozzo watched her carefully. She was clearly nervous. But why?

"Abby, you know you can tell me anything, right?" DiNozzo said. Abby nodded, but didn't speak. After a minute, DiNozzo went on. "If you're afraid of Gibbs…"

"I'm not," Abby interrupted. "I could never be afraid of him."

"But if you were, you know all you'd have to do is talk to me, and I'd take care of it, right?"

"I know, Tony. But I'm not. Gibbs doesn't scare me."

"Okay. He's somewhere in the hospital, having coffee. He wants to talk to you himself. Is that alright?"

"He's here? He shouldn't be here. He's got a homicidal rapist to catch. What's he doing here?" She went from nervous to completely freaked in a flash, and DiNozzo couldn't imagine why.

"He's worried about you, Abs. Of course he's here. Don't you want to see him?"

Abby was chewing on her lip again. Her expression was mixed. DiNozzo could see hope, fear, and… shame?

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, Abby," he said. "I want to help."

"I know, Tony." She seemed to come to a decision, and nodded once. "Yes. I want to see him," she said.

"Okay, I'll give him a call. I'll stay here while he talks to you, if that's okay," DiNozzo said.

"You don't have to," Abby said. "Really. It's alright if you have to go."

"I'll call him. We'll see what he says." DiNozzo took out his cell and called Gibbs.

* * *

In the lounge, Gibbs had heard the whole conversation, loud and clear. He'd been glad to hear Abby defend him so vehemently. He was concerned at the tone of her voice when DiNozzo asked her about not calling him. Even over the wireless he could tell she was lying and he couldn't figure why. But it came together when she told DiNozzo what she was dreaming about: she hadn't wanted him called because she was afraid of what he would do to the bastard who'd hurt her. It was probably the same reason she'd denied being hurt in the lab the day before.

Gibbs remembered the day he found out that lunatic Mawher had been stalking her. He'd asked her why she didn't come to him when she filed a restraining order against Mawher, and her response had been that she wanted him restrained, not beaten to a pulp with a baseball bat. What else had she said that day? That she was embarrassed because of her bad taste in boyfriends. It made some kind of bizarre sense. She'd lied to him, and asked McGee not to call him, because she didn't want him to know. Like a teenager trying to hide from the one person who might be able to help. Like every other victim of domestic violence too afraid or too embarrassed to say 'I'm hurting.' If someone had been beating on her, which the doctor had suspected and Gibbs knew beyond a doubt, she'd been hiding this for awhile.

"God, Abby. Why didn't you tell me?" he said to the empty room. Then he heard Abby's voice change again when DiNozzo told her he was in the hospital. It sounded even stranger than before. She clearly still didn't want him to be there and she was just as clearly upset that he was. Surely she knew the jig was up, that they were going to figure out what had happened. Why was she still so insistent he not know? He heard Abby finally agree to see him and DiNozzo talk about calling him and he pulled the earpiece out, dropping it into his pocket as his cell rang.

Before going to the room, Gibbs freshened his coffee from the vending machine in the lounge. He had to make it take longer than walking from two doors down, and he wanted a moment to consider his next move. What he wanted to do was go in there and demand that Abby tell him who the son-of-a-bitch was. But he knew that wouldn't work. Abby would tell him what she was ready to tell him and nothing more. And all the posturing in the world wasn't going to help, because unlike the suspects he could so easily manipulate, Abby wasn't afraid of him.

"Hey Abs," Gibbs said as he pushed through the doorway. "Okay if I come in?"

"You don't have to ask, Gibbs. What, no Caf-Pow?" She forced a laugh, which fell into a groan.

"A little advice? You're not going to want to be laughing for awhile." He went to the bed and bent over it, kissing her on the cheek. He was pleased to note she didn't shy away from him this time. "Docs wouldn't let me bring you any anyway." Her nose twitched and she scrunched up her face in a look of mock disgust.

"What?" he asked.

"Coffee breath," she said and smiled. Gibbs returned it.

"Long day," he replied. He took a pack of gum from his breast pocket and slid out a piece one handed, offering her one. She shook her head a little. He folded the gum into his mouth, returned the pack to his pocket, and chewed a few times before she spoke again.

"I'm sorry they called you last night, Gibbs. I told McGee not to bug you in the middle of the night." He shook his head and ran his index finger under her lower lip, stopping her from biting it.

"I would not have been happy with either of them if they hadn't. And you know how much they hate it when I'm unhappy." He smiled at her, and she managed one back.

"Didn't think of that," she admitted. She gave an abbreviated sigh. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I should be right here, Abby. Talking to you." He set his coffee on the side table and turned to sit on the edge of the bed by Abby's covered legs. He noticed her hair was tied up in rough and uneven braids. Clearly she hadn't done it herself. Gibbs' money was on Ducky. DiNozzo hadn't had the time, and McGee had a little sister: he would have done a better job. The bruise on her cheek had darkened, and swelling under her eye gave her face a slightly lopsided appearance. Her left arm was resting on her chest under the blankets, her right arm out and holding the Goth teddy bear. Her arm where it was exposed by the hospital gown was covered with bruises in various stages of healing. Around her upper arm was a fresh set in the clear shape of four fingers. Someone had grabbed her hard.

"So tell me what happened last night," Gibbs said when she began to grow nervous under his gaze.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went out to the all-night drug store, for some more Tylenols. I was just getting home. I unlocked the door and a guy pushed me from behind. I fell into the house, and he started kicking me."

Gibbs internal polygraph told him she was telling the truth, so far. He continued. "Did you get a look at him?"

"Not really. I didn't see his face. He was wearing a mask." Her eyes flicked to DiNozzo, then back to Gibbs. That was a lie.

"What kind of mask?"

"A balaclava. Like for skiing, you know?" She looked at him earnestly. Another lie. She was clearly well-versed in Gibbs rule #7: Always be specific when you lie. He held back a sigh.

"Then what happened?" Gibbs asked.

"I tried to get away, but he was too strong. He punched me, and kicked me. I hit my face on the hall table. I was really scared." She brought her hand up to the bruise on her cheekbone. Gibbs caught her hand and held it, tracing her pulse with his thumb. Tears began to well in her eyes.

"Then what?" he asked softly.

"I fell over the kitchen table. The chair broke. I knocked the flowers you gave me off the counter. I'm sorry, Gibbs. They were so nice."

"I'll get you some more," he said.

"No! It's alright," she said, and he felt a spike in her pulse. His eyes flicked up to the monitor above, which echoed the increased rate he could feel.

"What's wrong, Abs? What aren't you telling me?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Nothing, Gibbs. Just, you don't have to buy me more flowers. It's alright." This time, Gibbs did sigh.

"So the flowers got knocked over. Then what?"

"He kept hitting me and kicking me. Every time I tried to get up, he knocked me back down again." The tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks to drip onto her gown. "I almost made it back to the door, but he grabbed my arm and dragged me back into the house. It really hurt. I thought he was gonna rip my arm off."

"Were you screaming?" he asked.

"A little. Mostly I was scared. I kept asking him what he wanted, begging him to stop."

"What did he say?" She looked away.

"Nothing. He just kept hurting me." Her eyes told him her attacker had said plenty.

"And you don't know why?" Gibbs asked.

"No. I don't." She held his gaze with watery eyes. He stayed silent, waiting. She didn't flinch. After a moment, he took another breath.

"What's his name, Abby?" Gibbs asked.

"Whose name?" Abby said.

"Abby," Gibbs said reproachfully.

"Why would I know his name, Gibbs? He didn't exactly introduce himself before he started beating me up last night."

"But this isn't the first time he's done this," Gibbs stated. Abby blinked once, then again.

"Why do you say that?" she asked and started chewing on her lip again. Gibbs let the silence hang for a full minute this time. Then he used his free thumb to pull her lower lip out from between her teeth.

"Why didn't you go to the clinic yesterday?" he asked. She frowned and looked over at DiNozzo. He just looked back at her. His face was encouraging, but not sympathetic. She would get no relief from that front.

"I didn't want to," she said. He narrowed his gaze. "Come on, Gibbs, don't be that way," she said.

"You lied to me, Abs. I don't like that."

Her mouth twisted in a familiar expression. She was embarrassed. And still scared. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "I'm sorry. Does Director Shepard know?"

"Not yet." He shook his head.

"Are you going to tell her?"

"If it comes up. I'm more worried about why you're lying to us."

"I just didn't want to go," Abby said. "Those clinic doctors are creepy. I was a little sore, and I knew what they would say anyway. So I just went home. I knew you'd be mad. I'm really sorry."

"I'm not mad. Just disappointed." Her expression crumbled a little, and he got the idea that she'd rather he be pissed.

"Was that the first time he hurt you?" Gibbs asked.

"No. I mean, he didn't…" she stumbled to a stop. Gibbs watched her struggle with it, then shook his head in frustration.

"Abby, who's Phil?" he asked. Her eyes widened, then a look passed over her face too fast to track. For a second Gibbs thought she looked almost relieved and he wondered if he'd made a misstep.

"He's a guy who did some research for me a couple weeks ago. Why?"

"There was a torn-up card in your kitchen trash from him, apologizing for being a jerk," Gibbs said. She frowned, looked over at DiNozzo, then back at Gibbs.

"You went through my trash?" she asked.

"Ziva and I did, Abs," DiNozzo said. "We had to work the crime scene."

"You worked my apartment? Went through all my stuff? How could you do that?" She'd gone from startled to pissed off, just that fast.

"I told them to, Abby," Gibbs said. "You were the victim of an assault. We have to find out who did it."

"By going through my house? Looking through all my stuff?" She pulled her hand loose from his and swiped at her eyes.

"Abby, that's how it works. You know that. They were very careful, I promise," Gibbs said.

"That's not the point, Gibbs." Abby said. On the monitor, her heart rate was climbing again, but this time he thought it was emotion, not lies. "That's my space. My house. How would you like it if I came over to your house and started going through everything? You shouldn't have done that without asking me."

Gibbs was working for an explanation, an apology, something, when he realized what had just happened: Abby had avoided his question, turned the conversation around, completely changed the subject, all without him noticing. God, he ought to hire her as an interrogator.

"Abby, tell me about Phil. What's his last name?"

"Harrison," she said tightly, still upset. "He works over at the Library of Congress. I asked him to do some hard book research for me a couple weeks ago. He found what I needed, then asked me out. I went out with him once, and he was a total jerk. He sent me a card to apologize." She shrugged with one shoulder. "I didn't call him back. That's all."

"Is he the one who attacked you?" Gibbs asked.

"No way," she said.

"How do you know, if the man was wearing a mask?" Gibbs asked.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Phil's, like, a runt. He's smaller than me, even when I'm not wearing platforms. I could take him easy, Gibbs."

"So who was it?" he asked.

"A big guy. Strong." She stopped, closed her eyes. She took a couple of shallow breaths.

"I was so scared," she said, without opening her eyes. "He kept kicking me, hitting me. I thought he was going to… It really hurt, Gibbs." Her voice cracked and she opened her eyes. Fresh tears tracked down her face.

"I know it did, Abby. I know." He brushed his hand over her hair, straightening it, then used the backs of his fingers to wipe at her tears. After a minute, he pulled his left knee up onto the bed so he could turn and fully face her. He held his hands up in front of his chest.

"Abby," he said aloud, and drew her attention to his hands.

"Did he force you to have sex?" Gibbs asked silently. Her eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. "You sure?" he signed. "It's just me and you here." She nodded and answered aloud.

"I thought he was going to. I thought he would. But he didn't. He kicked me, he hit me, he hurt my arm really bad. He yelled at me. Then he left." He held her watery look for a moment, then smiled slightly. She was telling the truth.

"I'm so glad, Abby," he said aloud. She nodded, then used her good hand to sign: "Me too."

"Tell me what else you know about him," Gibbs asked. He glanced over at DiNozzo, who was looking confused about the change to sign language. Gibbs shook his head slightly. Later.

"He's tall," Abby began. "White. He has big hands." She reached for Gibbs's hand and pressed her fingers against his. "Bigger than yours."

"Is he younger than me?" Gibbs asked. From the other side of the bed, DiNozzo gave a snicker that died a hard death at Gibbs' glare.

Abby half smiled. "Yeah. Maybe a little older than me. Like Tony's age?"

"How tall is he?" Gibbs asked. He laced his fingers through hers. He kept asking his questions in the present tense, and she didn't correct him. She knew who had attacked her. No doubt.

"He's a little taller than you. Maybe six three or four."

"What about his build? Thin or heavy?"

"He's heavy. But not fat, just built strong. Hard." She smiled up at him. "Like Tony." Gibbs growled at her a little, and she smiled through her tears.

"How about his eyes?" he asked. He modulated his tone of voice to be off-hand.

"He has nice eyes. I noticed that right away."

"What color?"

"Brown," she said immediately.

"Where'd you meet him?" Gibbs said in the same tone.

"At the…" she stopped and her eyes widened. "No."

"Abby?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know anything else. I swear, Gibbs." She pulled her hand away again and grabbed the teddy bear. She hugged it to her chest.

"Abby, you've got to tell me. I can't help if I don't know what's going on." Gibbs said. She was shaking her head.

"No. I can't. I don't have anything else to tell you. Really." She looked at him, but he noticed she was avoiding his eyes again. What had her so scared she was going to these lengths to keep them out of it?

"Abby, whatever it is, if you tell me, I'll fix it. I promise."

"You can't fix this, Gibbs. You can't." She squeezed the bear tightly and stifled a moan of pain.

"Could you guys leave me alone for awhile?" She turned to look at DiNozzo. Tony looked at Gibbs. Gibbs looked down at Abby, trying to read her.

"Alright Abby. For now." He got off the bed. "I talked to Gloria earlier. Told her I'd set up a TDY from here."

"Later?" she asked. He heard the unspoken request to avoid talking to her mother for the moment.

"Okay. I'll be back tonight, okay?"

"You don't have to come back. I'll be okay." Again, Gibbs heard the strangeness in her voice that he'd heard when DiNozzo first told her he was in the hospital. She didn't want him here. And he was definitely missing something. But what?

"Tony will be outside the room. If you need anything, you call out. He'll hear you." She nodded. Gibbs stepped away and gestured to DiNozzo. Tony followed him out.

"What do you make of it, Boss?" DiNozzo asked. Gibbs shook his head and moved them further down the hall. They could still see the door to Abby's room, but they were out of earshot.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure as hell going to find out. You didn't find anything at the house that would tell us who this dirtbag is?"

"We told you everything we found, Boss."

"What about her computers?"

"She only has a laptop at home. We brought it in with the rest of the stuff from her house."

Gibbs nodded. "Stay with her. In the room or in sight of the door. Keep your eyes open. If he comes to visit, he might see you and try to bail. I want this guy."

"Got it."

"Call me if she decides to talk." He started down the hall.

"Hey Gibbs, wait," DiNozzo said. He held out the memory card McGee had given him. "From McGee." Gibbs took it and looked at it for a moment before pocketing it. He nodded and left.

* * *

to be continued

feedback welcome, either here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	8. Chapter 8

**Lying Eyes Part 8**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Back at the Navy Yard, Gibbs found Ziva still working the phones. She waved him over as soon as she saw him get off the elevator. It took her a moment to finish and hang up.

"The pre-paid cell number was issued by Verizon to a distributor in Alexandria. Distributor assigned it to a phone bought at a WalMart near Quantico. WalMart does not track the phones, but the minute cards are individually numbered."

"Name?" Gibbs asked as he rounded his desk to check for messages.

"No. The card was one of five 400-minute cards bought at the same time, for cash, and applied to the same phone. No record of purchaser's name."

"Great."

"I have tried the number a few more times, no answer. It appears to be turned off," Ziva said. "The good news is the phone is GPS enabled. If he turns it back on, and he tries to make a call, Verizon can track it."

"Why can't we track it?" Gibbs asked.

"There is no one to do it," Ziva said. When Gibbs frowned at her, she continued. "Lt. Hanson is gone for the day, McGee is not here, I do not know the program, and you…"

Gibbs cut her off. "Take it to MTAC. Tell them it's priority."

"Got it." She headed up the stairs.

Gibbs sat behind his desk and took out the photo card. He reached to slide it into his computer, then stopped. The pictures of Abby's injuries would eventually become part of the case record, but for now, he'd keep them as private as he could.

He called autopsy. Not surprisingly, Ducky was still in. Gibbs took the elevator down.

"What can I do for you, Jethro?" Ducky asked as the doors swooshed open. The medical examiner was in his street clothes and he had his overcoat on. Looked like Gibbs had only just caught him.

"Need you to document some photos for me." He held out the memory card.

"Photos of what?" Ducky asked. He took the card and moved over to the plasma on the wall.

"Abby," Gibbs said, and Ducky stopped mid-stride.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah. I'd rather keep the photos themselves out of evidence for now. Can you give me a written report for the file?"

"Certainly." Ducky slipped the card into the slot on the plasma. "Did you take them?"

"McGee. Overnight last night, while she was still mostly out of it."

"Good. It's better that way, for both of them. Do you want to see them?" he asked.

"No. But I need to," Gibbs said.

"Very well." Ducky pushed buttons on the remote.

The photos weren't great. It was obvious from the quality that McGee hadn't been as focused as he usually was. Even so, they showed the damage clearly, with paper rulers laid on the edge of each photo to indicate scale. Both men were silent as Ducky scanned through them. Gibbs felt his chest tighten and his rage build. The damage to her belly, back and chest was extensive. As the doctor had told them at the hospital, the bruises were in various stages of healing. Some had already begun to yellow with age. Her lower back was almost solid purple, obliterating the lowest five inches of the large cross tattoo there. She had multiple bruises on her arms and legs, some small, some larger. They were clearly the result of more than one beating. And definitely from beatings: no accident caused marks like those.

"Oh Abigail," Ducky breathed when they got to the end. "Who did this to you?"

"You can be damn sure I'm going to find out, Ducky," he said tightly and turned away. "When you're done, secure the card. I'll get it from you later."

Stepping off the elevator on three, Gibbs made a call.

"McGee," he said when the phone was picked up. "I need you back here, now."

"What's up, Boss?" McGee asked. Gibbs could hear water running in the background. Sounded like the shower.

"Abby's covering for someone. We've got her laptop here and I want you to go through it."

"Covering? For who?" McGee asked.

"That's what you're going to find out, McGee. How long before you get here?"

"I just got home. I've got to finish cleaning up, and I haven't had anything to eat all day…"

"Hit the drive-thru on your way here. I want you on this now."

"Got it, Boss. I'll be there in under an hour."

"You've got 45 minutes." Gibbs hung up.

It was approaching 6 p.m. Abby's neighbors should be getting home by now. With DiNozzo at the hospital and McGee coming back here, it looked like it would be up to him and Ziva to see if anyone had any information on Abby's attack. Not that he expected much: most neighbors in this town kept to themselves. But he was counting on Abby to have made friends with at least some of them. And friends would notice things like sounds of a fight at three in the morning. Maybe not notice enough to call 9-1-1, but enough to remember, and maybe peek out the window.

"They are busy with something, but the tech said he would try his best," Ziva reported when she returned from MTAC.

"Alright. You're with me. We're going to Abby's."

* * *

The interviews with Abby's neighbors got them nothing. Her downstairs neighbor was awakened by sounds of banging and crashing around two, but there were no sounds of distress, so he thought Abby was just roughhousing with someone. The woman who lived in the unit adjoining Abby's bedroom said she went to bed early and heard nothing. The couple on the side that adjoined Abby's kitchen said they did hear her crying, and were about to call 9-1-1 but then they heard her moving around and figured if she needed help, she'd call herself. No one saw anyone coming or going at that hour. The manager remembered seeing her come home a couple of times over the past month or so with the same man, a big guy with short hair. He had no further useful description. Another neighbor remembered Gibbs being there working on the front door, but no other visitors. Everyone heard the ambulance show up. Otherwise, no one knew anything. They headed back to the office.

Gibbs' phone rang as they got off the elevator on the third floor. Ziva went to her desk.

"Boss, it's McGee. I found something you have to see."

"Where are you?"

"Abby's office." Gibbs snapped his phone shut and returned to the elevator.

Abby's lab was dark and silent, but the light over her desk was on and McGee was staring intently at the screen of a laptop. The top of the computer was covered with sparkly stickers of bats, spiders and other Gothic fare. Definitely Abby's.

"What'd you find?" Gibbs asked. He moved in behind McGee.

"This." On the screen was an open picture file inside an email. It showed Gibbs, in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt with a hammer and chisel in his hands, working on Abby's door. Superimposed over his head was a red shooter's target. Under the picture was a single sentence. Gibbs squinted to read it, leaning back to get it in range without his glasses. McGee read it aloud.

"If I see you with him again, he's dead. V."

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

"Where did that come from?" Gibbs said.

"The email was sent to her personal address last Tuesday night. She threw it away, but it was still on the drive."

"Where did it come from, McGee?" Gibbs asked again, his voice harder.

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know. It was an anonymous email address, signed only with the letter V. The company that issued the address, 'anon-a-mail dot com,' specializes in email addresses that aren't attached to names. I might be able to track it through the IP address where the email originated, but that will only help if he sent it from his home computer, and if he's got a traceable email address he also sends from that computer. If it was sent from a public computer, there's not much I can do."

"I don't want to hear that, McGee." Gibbs smacked the back of the chair McGee was sitting in, making McGee jump. Gibbs started to turn away, but McGee called him back.

"Uh, there's more, Boss. She's been exchanging emails with this guy for awhile." He hit some buttons and a list of emails and subject lines popped up. There were dozens of them. "Whoever this guy is, she's been chatting with him regularly. Apparently, she was dating him and she tried to break it off about a month ago. He spent a week trying to cajole her back. She finally told him three weeks ago that she was seeing someone else. He tried to get her to tell him who it was, but she refused. On the 14th he said he was going to find out who she was seeing and convince him to leave her so she would come back to him. Said he was watching her."

"That was right before she asked me to install the deadbolt," Gibbs said. McGee nodded.

"The email with the picture of you was the first one that had an overt threat. Since that one was sent, he's sent her eight more, all threatening to kill you if she didn't come back to him."

"Explains why she didn't want me around."

"She must really think you're in danger."

Gibbs washed his hand over his face. "I want this bastard. You track that address, McGee, and you tell me who he is."

"I'll try, but there's one thing, Boss..."

"I don't want to hear 'I'll try' or 'just one thing,' McGee," Gibbs growled. "This son of a bitch is beating Abby. I want him in my chat room. Tonight."

"Okay." He turned back to the computer, then spoke again. "What if it's the new guy who's hurting her?"

"What?" Gibbs asked, not following.

"She broke up with this guy three weeks ago. There's no indication in the emails that she's seen him in person since. The doctor said she'd been beaten two or three times over the last week. What if she met another bastard in the meantime?"

"That would be one hell of a coincidence, McGee. And you know how I feel about those."

"I know. I was just thinking of rule number eight." He trailed off.

"Never take anything for granted." Gibbs quoted the rule. He dropped a hand on McGee's shoulder. "Just find him. Then we'll know."

"Maybe Abby knows where to find him," McGee said and looked back up at Gibbs. "It would be easier to just ask her."

"Abby's not telling the truth at the moment. Probably because of that…" He gestured at the screen and took a deep breath. "Print me copies of those emails. The picture too."

"All of them? There's close to 100."

"Yes, all of them, McGee," Gibbs said sharply. "I want to know everything Abby's been hiding."

"On it, Boss." McGee started tapping keys, and the printer behind him sprang to life.

"Anything else on her computer?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't think so. But I haven't been able to access her personal email account." Gibbs frowned, confused.

"So where'd those come from, if you couldn't get into her email?"

"They'd been deleted, but I was able to recover copies of them from the undeleter cache, because she hadn't run a file cleanup lately. I haven't actually gotten into her email account. The computer itself isn't password protected, but the email account is."

"Is that normal?"

"Sure," McGee shrugged. "It's not an agency laptop, she didn't usually carry it around with her, and she lives alone. There's no reason to password protect it. The email account comes standard with a password."

"So there could be more of these emails she hasn't read yet?"

"Yes, and there could be some she read and hasn't deleted sitting in her old mail file. But there's no way I can get them unless I have her password."

"Can't you hack in?"

"It would take some time. She's got anti code breaker software installed."

Gibbs waved off the explanation. "Just focus on finding the bastard."

"You know, Boss, it feels kind of creepy, going through Abby's life like this. She's going to be really upset when she finds out."

"I don't care. She can't be hiding this." Gibbs took a few steps away, then turned back. "If she was afraid to get me involved, why not tell you? Or DiNozzo? Or any of us? What the hell kind of good does it do to have friends who carry guns if you won't let them shoot sons-of-bitches like that for you?"

McGee was stunned into silence for a moment. Gibbs' outburst was a rare lifting of his unflappable façade, and McGee wasn't sure what to make of it. Should he answer flippantly? Truthfully? Hypothetically? Or ignore it altogether? Gibbs seemed to be waiting for an answer, so McGee decided to play it straight. He answered tentatively.

"Maybe that's what she was afraid of. That you'd do something…" McGee cut himself off.

"Stupid?" Gibbs supplied.

"I didn't say that, Boss," McGee said, backpedaling fast.

"No, but it's what you were thinking. And it's probably what she was thinking." The printer stopped, and Gibbs grabbed the thick sheaf of pages off it. "I'm going back down to the hospital. Call me when you find him."

"Got it." Gibbs strode out.

* * *

to be continued

feedback welcome, either here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	9. Chapter 9

**Lying Eyes Part 9**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs got back to Bethesda just past 8 p.m., stopping only to grab a pre-packaged sandwich from the vending machines and refill his coffee. As he walked in the door, Gibbs heard the end of an overhead announcement saying visiting hours were over. He ignored it and went up to Abby's floor. The door to Abby's room was slightly ajar, the room beyond it dark. He silently pushed through.

DiNozzo was sitting in the chair by the window. He was slouched down so the back of the chair was behind his head, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his chin on his chest. His arms were crossed, his hands buried in his armpits under his jacket. He was backlit by the parking lot lights coming through the blinds and Gibbs couldn't see his face. He was breathing slowly. Asleep. Gibbs swung the door shut behind himself. He felt an anger approaching rage flare in his head. DiNozzo had fallen asleep when he was supposed to be protecting Abby. How the hell was DiNozzo planning to keep Abby safe when someone could just walk in and…

"Hey Boss," DiNozzo whispered without moving or looking up. "Keep it down. She's sleeping."

Gibbs felt the anger drain out of him all at once. Of course DiNozzo hadn't been sleeping. Or at least not sleeping deeply enough not to have noticed him coming in. His suspicion was confirmed when DiNozzo shoved his gun fully back into the shoulder holster he was wearing under his jacket. He'd obviously reached for it when Gibbs tried to sneak in.

"You eaten lately?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo shook his head.

"Go get something. I'll be here."

"You sure, Boss?" DiNozzo asked. He stretched.

"Go. Come back when you're done." DiNozzo stood.

"She fell asleep about an hour ago. It's been pretty quiet. Director Shepard came by. No sign of anyone else."

Gibbs nodded his acknowledgement and DiNozzo headed out. Gibbs pulled the chair closer to the bed. For several minutes, he drank his coffee and watched Abby sleep. She was so damn young. And innocent in all the right ways. It hurt his heart to see her lying here like this, battered and helpless, a teddy bear under her arm. Her breathing was regular but fast and shallow. He could relate. He'd had broken ribs a couple of times in his life. She would be breathing that way for weeks, and there was a high risk of pneumonia from fluid gathering in the bottom of her lungs, which wouldn't fill completely as she protected them from expanding with a deep breath. They'd have to keep an eye on her, make sure she was doing breathing exercises. God, Gibbs smiled to himself. How quickly the lessons came back.

As Gibbs watched her, her eyes began to dance under her closed lids. She was dreaming. Of what became clear a few minutes later when she started to twitch, and make sub-vocal sounds of distress. He stood and leaned down over the bed.

"Abby," he whispered. There was no change. He tried again, a little louder. "Abby, wake up." Her head jerked toward him and she let out a small moan.

"Abby!" he said sharply. She jumped, and her eyes flashed open. She blinked rapidly several times, looking around in the dark. Gibbs reached up and snapped on the light over the bed. She turned toward him, and a look of panic flashed over her face. Her mouth moved, but no words came.

"It's okay, Abs." He brushed his fingers along the side of her face. "You were having a bad dream." He picked the water glass off the bedside table and offered her some. She sipped through the bent straw, swallowed, then spoke in a whisper.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Yes I should."

Abby shook her head, took a few hard breaths, and continued.

"No, you don't understand. You shouldn't be here."

"Yes, I do understand." Gibbs pulled out the email picture and turned it around so she could see it. Her eyes widened.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked after a minute.

"Off your computer. Why didn't you tell me, Abby?" His tone was neutral. No anger, no condemnation. She looked up at him, frowned, bit her upper lip, and to his surprise, tears started to flow.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs. I was so scared. I don't want you to get dead."

"Hey, Abby, it's alright. No one's going to get me," he said. He folded up the picture and put it back in his pocket.

"That guy on the boat almost did. Ari almost did. Sharif almost did." He frowned as she recounted the near-misses he'd had in just the last couple of years.

"Almost is right. Almost. Those guys were professional killers, all of them. This guy isn't. Is he?"

"He's a Marine!" Abby cried, and she dissolved into tears.

Gibbs' heart lurched. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut and he had to take a breath as nausea threatened.

"The guy who did this to you is a Marine?" he said tightly. Abby nodded miserably.

"What's his name, Abby?" She shook her head.

"I can't," she wailed. "He'll kill you."

"No, he won't." Across the room the door opened and a nurse stuck her head in.

"Everything alright in here?" she asked. Gibbs' eyes jumped up to the monitor above the bed. Abby's vitals were all out of the range of good. It must have set off an alarm in the nurses' station.

"We're fine," Gibbs said. The nurse looked to Abby with eyes narrowed.

"Abby? You alright? This guy bothering you?" she asked. Though she couldn't have been more than 5'4, the look on her face and the set of her shoulders told Gibbs she was ready to take him on if Abby gave the word.

"No," Abby said. "It's okay. He's okay." The nurse looked from Abby to Gibbs and back, her expression never softening, then nodded.

"If you need anything, you push the button, okay?" she said. Abby nodded, and door closed again. Gibbs turned back to Abby.

"McGee is tracing these emails now, Abs. He's going to find him eventually. It'll go a lot easier if you just tell me who he is."

Abby was crying full-out now. "If he sees you coming, he'll kill you, Gibbs. He used to be a sniper. I don't want to lose you too."

Gibbs took another deep breath. No wonder Abby was so frightened for him. She'd seen firsthand what a sniper could do when Ari was gunning for them. When Ari killed Kate. There would be no forcing it out of her. He had to step carefully.

"Guys like this, they're not what they seem to be. We take down dirtbags like him every day. You tell me who he is, and I'll bring him in tonight. He'll never bother you again. I promise."

Abby was shaking her head. "But what if you don't find him? He'll know you were looking for him, and he'll come looking for you. What if he finds you first?"

"Abby, I didn't get my badge out of a crackerjack box. I know what I'm doing, and I can take care of myself. Do you think he's better than me?"

"No," Abby said emphatically. "But he might get lucky. I can't take that chance. Not with you. You're too important."

Gibbs was taken aback. "Not more important than you, Abby."

Abby just shook her head. Gibbs sighed. There had to be a way to get the name without hurting Abby more. He gave himself a minute to think while Abby caught her breath.

"He's a Marine. Is he active duty?" Gibbs asked. Abby hesitated, then nodded.

"How about I have the MPs out of Quantico arrest him? He won't be expecting them, will he?"

She seemed to consider it. She swiped at her face with her good hand.

"You won't go after him?" she asked quietly.

"I'll call the base, have them pick him up. Then I'll have DiNozzo and Ziva bring him in. I won't do it myself."

"You promise?" she asked.

"Promise," he said. He put his index finger to his lips, turned it out toward her and showed her two fingers in a 'V'. Promise. She took a breath, held it, then let it out slowly.

"Victor DeLaCruz. He's a Sergeant, a mechanic with Marine One. He lives in the BEQ at Quantico."

"That's good, Abby. Very good. I'll have them pick him up, right now." He leaned down and kissed her head. "Thank you."

"Will you stay with me when Tony leaves?" Abby asked and looked up at him from under her wet lashes. "Please?"

"Of course." He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I've got to make a few calls first. And get some more coffee. I'll be right back, okay?" Abby nodded.

He left the room, pulling the door carefully shut behind himself. He took a few steps down the hall, then turned and kicked the wall.

"Son of a bitch!" he said, and kicked it again.

"Sir? Everything all right?" one of the nurses called to him and he spun toward her. Not the little bulldog who'd come into Abby's room. This one flinched back, and Gibbs raised his hands in a calming motion.

"Everything's fine. Okay to use a cell in here?" he asked. His voice was tight, but he forced it to be even.

"In the lounge at the end of the hall," the nurse said. She was obviously nervous. He nodded at her and went there. His first call was to McGee.

"Stop what you're doing and access Marine active duty personnel," he said.

There was a tapping of keys. "Go ahead," McGee said.

"Marine Sergeant Victor DeLaCruz. I need an address."

"You have a date of birth?"

"No."

"Checking…" there was more clicking of keys and then: "I've got 24 of them."

"Should be one at Quantico," Gibbs said. More keys.

"Got it. Bachelor Enlisted Quarters, unit 5473."

"Give me the number for his CO, and for base security."

"Base security is…" he read off the number. Gibbs wrote it on the back of the email picture. "His CO's Captain Mark Paulson. Says here DeLaCruz is a mechanic with Marine One."

"That's him. Give me the number you have for the Captain."

McGee did. "Who is he, boss?"

"He's the dirtbag who's been beating Abby."

"We going to go pick him up?"

"Not yet. The MPs are going to arrest him first."

"That's unusual," McGee commented.

"You think? You find the guy that sent those emails yet?"

"Working on it. You still need me to?"

"Hell yes, McGee. We're going to build an airtight case against him." He hit end, then immediately dialed base security at Quantico. He asked for the commander of the watch, and when he had him on, explained who he was and what he wanted.

"I don't know, Special Agent Gibbs," the Master Sergeant said. "I know DeLaCruz. He's a good man."

"That 'good man' has been beating his ex-girlfriend and threatening to kill a federal agent. Pick him up. My people will be down to collect him tonight."

"You sure about this?"

"Dead sure. Call me when you have him in custody."

"Will do." Gibbs gave him his cell number and disconnected. Next, Gibbs called the number he had for DeLaCruz's Captain. He again explained who he wanted and what he was after. The Captain also defended DeLaCruz but agreed not to interfere with Gibbs' request to have him arrested, as long as NCIS kept him informed. Gibbs promised he would and hung up. He dialed DiNozzo. He heard the cell ring in stereo and looked up. DiNozzo was coming down the hall toward him, a cup of good coffee in each hand. He snapped his phone shut.

"Go get Ziva and head to Quantico. Base security is going to have Marine Sergeant Victor DeLaCruz in their holding area. Bring him in."

"What for?" DiNozzo asked.

"For assault and terrorist threats. Abby says he's the one."

"A Marine?" DiNozzo looked as startled as Gibbs had been.

"Yeah. And there's no need to be nice."

"You got it, Boss." He handed Gibbs one of the coffees and took off. Gibbs returned to Abby's room. As he neared the door, a hospital security guard stepped up to intercept him.

"Visiting hours are over, sir. You'll have to leave the hospital." Gibbs sized him up and down. He wasn't military, just one of the rent-a-cops the Navy hired to provide basic hospital security. Gibbs figured he could take him and not even spill his coffee. But why waste his energy? He pulled out his wallet instead and flipped open his ID.

"NCIS. This patient is under federal protection. My protection." The guard's eyes flickered to the nurses behind Gibbs.

"Sorry, sir. I got a call someone was being violent outside this room."

"That would be me. I was a little upset." He turned to the nurses' station. "Won't happen again," he said to the group in general. Then he pushed past the guard into Abby's room.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Gibbs' phone rang. He was sitting where he'd been when Abby fell asleep: on the chair next to the bed holding her hand. He snatched at the phone, trying to silence it before it woke Abby.

"Gibbs," he said quietly. He slipped his hand out of Abby's and went out into the hall.

"Hey Boss," DiNozzo said. "We're here at Quantico, but there's a couple of problems."

"What problems?" The Master at Arms had called Gibbs back almost immediately to say he had DeLaCruz in custody. So what kind of problem could there be?

"Didn't Abby say this guy was big, and white? No scars or marks?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said, a question in his voice.

"I'm looking at Marine Sergeant Victor DeLaCruz, mechanic with Marine One. He's dark-skinned Hispanic, about five foot six, can't weigh more than a buck fifty. Both his hands and forearms are covered with burn scars. And even if Abby's still lying, he's got a pretty good alibi for last night."

"How good?" Gibbs asked.

"One of the birds on the detail had a mechanical failure on the White House lawn. He was part of the crew called over to fix it. His duty chief confirms he was there from just before 2100 until after dawn."

"Took them nine hours to fix one of the active helicopters in the Marine One squadron?" Gibbs was skeptical. Those birds were the best maintained in the military.

"I asked that, too. Apparently a new pilot got excited and stripped the gears. He was in training, first flight to the big stick, not intended to carry the president, just fly the chase. Anyway, this guy doesn't match Abby's description."

"You tell him what we want him for?"

"No. Just 'an investigation'."

"Good. Tell him we're looking into some missing equipment, ask him if he'd mind coming in, to clear his name."

"What if he says no?" DiNozzo asked.

"Don't make it an option, DiNozzo. I want him here, where I can talk to him myself. Have Ziva relieve me here when you're back." He had a sudden thought. "Get a picture from DeLaCruz's service record. Have Ziva bring it with her." Gibbs shut the phone.

He returned to the dark room. He needed to talk to Abby, get confirmation on DeLaCruz's description, but he didn't want to wake her up if he didn't have to. He knew from his own experience that the only time she'd be pain-free for the next little while was in sleep. He'd wait until Ziva arrived. He'd have to wake her up then anyway.

Gibbs sat back in the chair he'd vacated and resumed watching Abby sleep. God, how could this happen? How could he not have noticed she was in trouble? He was supposed to be some kind of hotshot investigator, but he'd missed it.

He wondered when she'd been hit the first time. McGee had said she'd tried to break up with him a month ago. Ziva said she'd stopped calling the pre-paid cell three weeks ago. What else had she said? That there'd been no calls at all from Wednesday through Saturday last week? Those were the days Abby was home with the flu… Maybe she didn't have the flu at all. Gibbs clenched his fists. The timing fit what the doctor had said about the oldest of the bruises: about a week. She'd taken days off because she was hurting from a beating.

Gibbs wanted to hit something. Abby had spent at least four days too hurt to come to work, alone in her apartment, and hadn't called one of them for help, all to protect Gibbs. Then, according to the doctor, the bastard had come back at least once before tonight. He'd known veteran Marines who wouldn't have kept their mouths such in such a situation. Abby was just a kid. How had he managed to instill such loyalty?

"I promise you, Abby, I will get him," Gibbs whispered. "And I will make him pay for this. I swear it." When he got his hands on DeLaCruz, he'd show the jackass what it meant to hurt.

* * *

to be continued

feedback welcome, either here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	10. Chapter 10

**Lying Eyea Part 10**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

A light tapping on the door heralded Ziva's arrival an hour and a half later. Gibbs stretched and stood, again leaning over the bed.

"Abby," he said softly, and gently shook her awake. She woke with a gasp and a groan.

"Easy, Abby. It's alright," Gibbs said. He turned on the bed light. "How you doing?"

She tried to speak, cleared her throat, and nodded. Gibbs gave her some water.

"Hi Ziva," Abby said when she could talk. Ziva smiled and made a small wave.

"Ziva's going to stay with you for awhile. I have to head out."

Abby reached up for his hand. "Did you find him?"

"Maybe. Ziva? You have that picture?" Ziva handed him a computer print out.

"Is this him, Abby?" he held out the picture. Abby looked at it, then up at Gibbs.

"Is that who?" she asked.

"Is that the guy who hurt you?"

She looked confused. "No. That's not Vic."

Gibbs frowned, and looked back at Ziva.

"That is who we brought down, Gibbs," she said. "Sergeant Victor DeLaCruz, from Marine One."

"No it's not," Abby said. "That doesn't look anything like him. Is this the guy you arrested?"

"You're saying this is not the man who beat you up, who you've been dating?" Gibbs asked.

"No," Abby said, becoming nervous. "There must be another person with the same name. There must be."

"It's alright, Abby. McGee said there are 24 Victor DeLaCruz's in the Marines. The MPs picked up the wrong one, that's all. Describe the one I should be looking for."

She took a couple shallow breaths. "I told you already. He's white, tall, six three or four, strong build, brown eyes, brown hair cut high and tight." She referred to the military brush cut so common in this area.

Gibbs frowned. Something about that description rang a bell.

"Any scars, tattoos, identifying marks?" he asked.

"Nothing that I saw."

"Okay. I'll call Quantico and have them pick up the right one. It'll be alright, Abs." He kissed her head. "I'm going to go send this guy home."

"You won't go after him yourself, right? You promised," Abby said.

"I promised." He ushered Ziva out into the hall.

"This is not him," Ziva said.

"You think? You're sure this is the only guy by that name stationed at Quantico?"

"That is the man base security had in custody. His picture matches his ID. He is Sergeant DeLaCruz, helicopter mechanic with Marine One. I am sure they would have said something if there were two men by that name on the same detail."

"Alright. Stay here. Don't leave her alone. You've had the most sleep over the last 24 hours, so you'll probably stay the night."

"What makes you think I slept last night?" Ziva asked, a gleam in her eye. Gibbs glared at her.

"You weren't here. Beyond that I don't want to know." He headed out.

* * *

On the way back, Gibbs called McGee and had him confirm only one of the 24 Victor DeLaCruz's in the Marine Corps worked out of Quantico. Then he had McGee get to work on tracking down the other 23, in case their suspect was lying about his job. He also told him to pull the photos of the rest of the Marine One detail, in case the guy was only lying about his name. Gibbs would interview this DeLaCruz himself, on the off chance it was Abby who was still lying.

As Gibbs got off the elevator, he was greeted by the sight of DiNozzo sitting at his desk talking to a Marine in fatigues. The Marine was broad-shouldered and at least as tall as DiNozzo. His gray hair was absolute regulation buzz. Definitely not DeLaCruz. Either of them.

"Boss," DiNozzo stood quickly when he saw Gibbs. "Lt. Samuels, Lead Mechanical Engineer, Marine Helicopter Squadron One. He insisted on coming down." The lieutenant stood to face him.

"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs." Gibbs shook his hand. "You didn't have to come down, sir."

"My Captain called to tell me one of my men is being investigated by NCIS. Your man says 'equipment theft,' but my Captain and the Master at Arms say battery and death threats. Makes me wonder. No offense, but I keep an eye on mine, you know?"

"I understand, sir. DiNozzo? Where is he?"

"Interrogation." DiNozzo handed him a file. Gibbs stowed his gun and coat, confirmed his reading glasses were in his jacket pocket, then slid open his desk drawer and pawed through it until he came up with a photo. He tucked it into the folder.

"If you'll come with me, Lieutenant." He indicated the way. "DiNozzo?" DiNozzo jumped to follow.

"So what's this really about?" Samuels asked.

"At the moment, I'm thinking identity theft," Gibbs said. Samuels looked confused.

"You think DeLaCruz stole someone's ID?"

"No, I think someone is impersonating him."

Lt. Samuels stopped Gibbs with a hand on his arm.

"You think someone is impersonating one of my mechanics? One of the mechanics on the Presidential Service Detail? This is serious."

"Yes it is serious, but not for the reason you think. We don't think it's an attempt to infiltrate your unit. Looks like our suspect is just using your man's name." When the Lieutenant looked confused, Gibbs elaborated.

"Someone claiming to be Sergeant Victor DeLaCruz, mechanic with Marine One, was dating one of my people. Beat her up a couple of times over the last week, last night bad enough to hospitalize her. During the investigation, we discovered he'd been making death threats against an NCIS agent."

"No way Vic did that," Samuels interrupted.

"Our witness ruled him out when she saw his picture. Which is what leads me to think maybe someone's using his name. Our suspect may be another Marine on your detail, or might not be a Marine at all."

"So DeLaCruz isn't under suspicion?" Samuels clarified.

"Not unless he's covering for someone."

Samuels nodded. "Mind if I sit in on your interrogation?" They resumed their walk down the hall.

"You can watch from the observation room." Gibbs opened the door to observation, nodded at the tech, and ushered Samuels in. As DiNozzo passed, he leaned in and whispered to him: "Watch him." DiNozzo nodded and Gibbs moved next door.

The interview lasted less than 20 minutes. Despite his nervousness at being called into NCIS in the middle of the night, Gibbs read the man as truthful. He had no thoughts on who might be claiming to be him, didn't think any of the guys on his detail would beat up a woman. When Gibbs described their suspect, DeLaCruz shook his head incredulously: half the guys in the Marine Corps could be described that way. Gibbs showed him the picture he'd taken out of his desk, of him and Abby at last year's office Christmas party. DeLaCruz's eyes had widened and he made an odd sound that Gibbs interpreted as an aborted laugh. He didn't hold that against the guy: Abby's wardrobe had been in rare form that night, her hair done up more than a dozen Medusa-like braids, each one tied with a small red bow. But he denied ever having seen her, or having heard any of the guys talk about dating a woman like her. Gibbs' gut told him this guy didn't have anything to do with Abby's attack.

He felt the guy out about why their suspect might have chosen him to impersonate and got nothing solid. It looked like this guy was a dead end.

Gibbs left DeLaCruz in interrogation and went to talk to the lieutenant. He met DiNozzo's eyes, and a small negative head shake told him DiNozzo had seen nothing suspicious.

"So, can I take him home?" Samuels asked.

"He's not our guy. But there has to be some reason our suspect is using DeLaCruz as his cover."

"I was thinking about that while you were talking to him. Maybe it's because he was featured on the website last year."

"What website?" Gibbs asked.

"The Squadron's public website. They ran a feature on him about eight, ten months ago. He was mentioned by the President in a speech, not by name, but his story. The public info guys started to get questions about him, so they ran a story."

"What's his story?"

"Summer 2004, he was on his way back to base from a week's liberty. He came up on a bad car wreck. Guy driving a civilian Hum-Vee crashed through the side of an apartment building, started a fire. The driver was already long dead, but the family inside the apartment had been sleeping in the living room, some kind of family movie night. Anyway, Vic rescued the mother and two of the three kids before the fire overtook the house. Got burned pretty good by it. That's where the scars on his arms and hands came from. He's got more on his chest. The President used it as an example of military putting themselves on the line here as well as overseas."

"Maybe that's where our suspect got his name," DiNozzo said. "Maybe he's not military at all, just got the name off the net."

"Could be, but that doesn't help us any," Gibbs said. "There's got to be a reason he picked this Marine."

"Well, whatever the reason, you're not looking for my man. Okay if we head back?" Samuels asked.

"Yeah. He's not scheduled to deploy anywhere anytime soon, is he?"

"Mechanics rotate home and away assignments when the President travels. I can keep him on the home team for the next little while if you need me to. That way, if he goes anywhere, the trip won't be for more than a day or two and you can get him back here in pretty short order."

"I'd appreciate that, sir. I'll let you know when the investigation wraps and he can resume regular travel." Gibbs shook the Lieutenant's hand. "DiNozzo, show them out." DiNozzo and the lieutenant went to interrogation while Gibbs headed back to the squadroom. That had gotten them exactly nowhere. Whoever Abby had been dating, it wasn't this Sgt. DeLaCruz. Maybe McGee had something.

After getting fresh coffee and an extra for McGee, Gibbs headed for Abby's lab. It was approaching midnight, but he had no doubt McGee would still be right where Gibbs had left him, at Abby's desk.

Sure enough, the youngest member of his team was still working. He had Abby's laptop open to one side and was tapping away at the keys on the desktop in front of him. Gibbs stopped outside the doorway and watched him for a moment. The kid was amazing. He worked those machines like a virtuoso. In the almost three years McGee had been on their team, he had rarely let Gibbs down when it came to computer work. He remembered last year when a Hummer loaded with $40 million worth of artificial intelligence components had killed the Naval officer working on it, then almost killed Abby in the evidence garage. McGee had been sitting right next to the Hummer when it automatically started up, but he was listening to the victim's laptop through sound eliminator headphones and missed it. Only Gibbs' timely arrival in the garage had saved Abby's life. McGee was crushed that he'd almost let Abby die while sitting ten feet away. Gibbs had never seen him work so hard to find what they needed after that. He'd read millions of lines of code until he found the answer to what started the deadly sequence. Gibbs had been shocked that he was able to find it at all, convinced they were screwed this time. But McGee had come through. Gibbs had no doubt about the reason behind his rabid pursuit of the killer that time: McGee had had a thing for Abby since the first time they'd met. Gibbs knew they'd dated for awhile, knew it had ended amicably but didn't know why, and knew that McGee still secretly worshipped her. He would do anything for Abby.

Then again, so would Gibbs.

"What've you got, McGee?" he asked as he entered. McGee looked up, rubbed his eyes with his fists, and started talking.

"The current locations of the other 23 Marines named Victor DeLaCruz. Most of them are Hispanic. Even accounting for skin tone that's light olive rather than Caucasian, only three even loosely match the description Abby gave us. Two are deployed overseas, and the third is stationed in Kentucky. I confirmed that one hasn't missed a day of duty in the last month, and hasn't had any extended leave time. Of the Marine One personnel, nine match the description, I've got their pictures printed out and ready to take to Abby. I also checked personnel from other military branches with that name who are stationed locally: Seven soldiers, five sailors, nine airman, and three members of the Coast Guard with that name in the right age range in the tri-state area. Eight match the description given with the most generous interpretation. I added their pictures to the pile. According to the DMVs in Virginia, Maryland and DC, there are another twelve men with that name who match that description in the right general age range. I printed their pictures, too." McGee frowned, consulted his notes, and looked up at Gibbs, apparently temporarily lost.

"The emails?" Gibbs prompted. McGee nodded.

"Right. The emails. I traced the IP address to a private, non-networked computer. That's the good news, that he sent it from a home or small office computer, not a public computer. I'm doing a global search for other emails sent from that IP under any email address. It's going to take some time, though."

"Why?" Gibbs asked, just to watch McGee squirm. The younger agent's eyes widened.

"Well, um, because it's randomly checking every e-mail that passed through the five largest internet service providers in the country over the past week, looking for an arrangement of seven numbers in an address. We're talking tens of millions of communications, sent from…" Gibbs waved the coffee in his right hand, cutting him off.

"Kidding, McGee. I knew that. Sort of. Here." He offered McGee one of the coffees. McGee took it gratefully and held it in both hands, letting the steam roll up over his face before taking a sip. Gibbs suddenly realized it was really cold in the lab. On closer look, he realized McGee's lips were slightly blue.

"Why's it so cold in here?" he asked.

"Programming glitch in the air conditioning system. It's trying to cool the lab to 36 degrees. It's programmed to do that every night between nine p.m. and three a.m."

"Why don't you reprogram it?" Gibbs asked. McGee looked at him and shrugged.

"I'm not sure breaking into the NCIS plant operations section is worth the effort. The environmental controls are monitored by biohazard contamination protocols, and I might set off the attack alarm if I tried. Besides, I've been kind of busy." Gibbs considered, and sighed.

"This search you're running isn't likely to yield any immediate results, is it?"

"I don't suppose so," McGee said and drank more coffee.

"Then call it a night, pick it up in the morning," Gibbs said. "You've done more than enough for now." McGee shook his head.

"I want to keep going. I'm working on cracking Abby's e-mail password while the search is running."

Gibbs studied him. The kid would keep going until he dropped. But it didn't look like he was in any danger of losing it yet. "Yeah, alright. Don't freeze to death. Call me if you find something."

* * *

There was nothing more for the rest of them to do at the moment. Gibbs stared at the numbers on the elevator panel as they ascended, his eyes fuzzing out momentarily before he shook his head to clear them. Abby would have to look at the pictures McGee had come up with, but he wasn't going to wake her up again before morning. And other than that, they had no leads on this guy. Their rape case had gone nowhere in the last 24 hours: they'd been too busy with Abby. Not that there'd been any evidence to investigate. On the other hand, there hadn't been another victim, either. Thank God for His small favors. Like he'd told McGee, it was time to call it a night.

DiNozzo was sitting at his desk in the dark squad room, head down. Gibbs thought about sneaking up on him and smacking him awake, but decided he wasn't in the mood.

"DiNozzo!" he called. Tony's head snapped up and he reflexively reached for his phone, snagging the handset.

"I'll get back to you," he said into the phone and cradled the receiver. He'd been sound asleep. Gibbs grinned to himself. Maybe he was a little in the mood.

"Who was that?" he asked as he rounded his desk.

"Who?" DiNozzo asked. Gibbs could see the wheels turning as he tried to come up with a story and took pity on him.

"Never mind. Go home, DiNozzo. Get some sleep. You're relieving Ziva at the hospital in six hours."

"Alright. You leaving, Boss?" he asked.

"Right behind you."

"Good." With no more than that, DiNozzo packed up and left.

Gibbs got his own coat and gun. He made sure he had the stack of emails McGee had printed and his reading glasses. He wanted to see every word that dirtbag had written to Abby. He had a feeling he was going to have to get inside this guy's head, and sooner was better.

"Good evening, Special Agent Gibbs." The lead guard on duty stood up behind his desk as Gibbs got off the elevator in the lobby. Days saw four guards and a supervisor at the single metal detector and x-ray machine that held the front door. Night staffing was only two personnel.

"Good evening, Frank, Jim." Gibbs greeted both men. "How's business tonight?"

"Slow, like usual. Not too many visitors to a closed federal office building in the middle of the night."

"I'm sure." He approached the exit door, then stopped and turned back. The senior supervisor on days was a retired Park Police Captain named Henry. He'd once told Gibbs he'd experienced enough of the Washington cold in his last job to last him the rest of his life. So he kept a small space heater under his desk to ward off the chill from the constant opening and closing of the front doors. It was warm outside, but the heater was probably around somewhere.

"Is Henry's space heater around?"

The guard looked curious. "In the locker room. Why?" Frank asked.

"I'd like to borrow it for a couple hours. There's something wrong with the A/C in Abby Sciuto's lab and Special Agent McGee is still working down there. He's turning blue."

"Thermostat programmed to 36 degrees?" Frank asked. When Gibbs nodded, he shook his head. "I've reported that half a dozen times in the last month. After the second time, I checked with Miss Sciuto, and she said it wouldn't hurt anything down there. So I just keep reporting it. Not exactly a good use of taxpayer money."

"Not exactly," Gibbs agreed. "I don't want him to freeze to death. Mind taking the heater down to him for me?" he asked.

"Sure thing, Agent Gibbs."

"Appreciate it." He headed out.

* * *

Gibbs was surprised to see Hollis' personal vehicle parked in front of his house when he got home. As he passed her SUV, he ran a hand over the hood. Cold. She'd been here awhile. There were no lights on in the house that he could see. Probably got tired of waiting for him to get home and went to sleep. Entering through the back, he hung up his coat, secured his weapon, and dropped the stack of emails on the counter. He grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge and noticed takeouts. She'd brought Italian this time. Gibbs went looking for her. She wasn't in the living room, or the den. She wasn't in his office, or his guest room. Feeling his heart rate kick up a bit, he swung open the door to his second-floor bedroom. Not there either, but her overnight bag was on his bed, and one of his pillows and the USMC blanket he kept over the foot of the bed were missing. That only left…

He drank from the bottle as he headed down to the basement. There she was, lying on her side on the empty workbench he sometimes used for small projects, the basement lit by a single work light. She had the pillow under her head and she was wearing one of his oversize sweatshirts. The blanket had slipped down around her waist.

For several minutes, he stood on the stairs and watched her. His chest felt tight. His breathing was a little uneven. God she was gorgeous. And he was so screwed.

Gibbs finished the descent and gently pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. When he bent to kiss her cheek, she started and woke.

"You're home," she said softly.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said.

"No, it's alright. I wanted to be here when you got done doing whatever it was you were doing all day."

"What if I hadn't come home?" he asked. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bench. In addition to the sweatshirt, she was wearing flannel pajama bottoms she must have brought with her, and thick socks. The ensemble was adorable. He set the bottle on the bench beside her, then stepped up between her knees and kissed her. It was gentle at first, but quickly became passionate. When he had to stop for breath, he held onto her and rested his forehead against hers.

"If you hadn't come home, I would have drank more of your coffee in the morning and found an excuse to stop by NCIS tomorrow," she said. She, too, was a little breathless. "Busy day today?"

"Spent most of it trying to track the guy that beat up Abby." He took another drink, and handed her the bottle.

"Any luck?" she asked and took a few swallows.

"It was a guy she'd been dating." He turned to lean back against the workbench next to her and gave her the short version.

"So she didn't tell anyone he was hurting her because she was afraid he'd come after you?" Hollis asked when he was done. She handed the bottle back.

"Looks that way."

"God, Jethro. Are you alright?"

He shrugged and finished the bottle, setting in on the bench. "We don't have any idea who he really is, or where to find him. Hopefully, Abby will pick him out of the photos McGee found, or at least be able to give us more details in the morning."

"I meant, are you alright?"

Gibbs took a breath. He reminded himself that he loved this woman, that she loved him, and that a good way to stop being such a bastard might be to let her in a little. He wasn't very good at it, hadn't really let anyone in since Shannon died. Jenny had come closest, but even she didn't truly know his heart. None of his three exes had gotten much beyond the surface. Still, he could do this.

"I'm upset that she didn't call me. I'm pissed that she took at least one extra beating because she didn't want to see me hurt. I want to find this guy so bad it's pretty much consuming my every thought. Other than that, I'm fine."

Hollis leaned over and blew in his ear, making him jump. Then she kissed his earlobe.

"Consuming your every thought?" she whispered and caught his ear between her teeth, biting down just a little.

"Maybe not every thought," he answered. His voice was husky. He turned to kiss her again.

"So why did DiNozzo want me to alibi you for last night?" she asked when they came up for air. Gibbs cleared his throat.

"There was some circumstantial evidence that hinted I might have been involved in Abby's attack."

Hollis stared at him. "He thought you'd beaten Abby? How could he possibly think that? About you? He knows damn well you wouldn't…" Gibbs put his hand over her mouth.

"Down, girl," he smiled. "He was just doing his job. There was evidence that pointed to me. I'd have smacked him if he hadn't followed up."

"But Jethro," she started again.

"It's alright, Holly. It's what I trained him to do." He kissed her lightly on the temple and straightened up.

"I'm going to bed. You gonna spend the night down here?"

"Wouldn't be my first choice." She grabbed the pillow and hopped off the bench. Gibbs wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they climbed the stairs.

"So why were you sleeping in the basement? I have a couple of beds and a pretty comfortable couch. Beats the workbench any day." He extinguished the lights he'd turned on as they moved through the house.

"I like it down there. It smells like you."

"You like the smell of sawdust?" he asked as they entered the bedroom.

"At your house. I do," she said. He turned her toward him and ran one hand over the back of her head.

"I love you," he said simply and kissed her again. She returned it eagerly. After a minute, she ran her hands down his chest and untucked his shirts, finding bare skin. He flinched.

"What?" she asked, her words muffled by his mouth.

"Cold hands," he said.

"I can fix that," she said, and started rubbing her hands rapidly up and down his back under his shirts.

"Mmmm…" he mumbled. He moved his own hands to her waist and turned them so his back was to the bed. Then he pulled her in tight toward him, bent his knees, and they fell back onto the mattress. Hollis climbed up on the bed, kneeling over his thighs and leaning down with both hands on his chest. He looked up at her and felt a longing so strong it took his breath away. He brought one hand up and traced her lips with his finger, holding her eyes. He could so easily lose himself in her.

Then Hollis went for his belt, and Gibbs really was lost.

* * *

to be continued

feedback welcome, either here or at joykatleen (AT) aol (DOT) com


	11. Chapter 11

**Lying Eyes Part 11**

**by joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

They made love hard and fast, and Gibbs had fallen asleep almost immediately after, his brain short-circuited by the joy of it. But he'd woken again less than an hour later and despite being exhausted, he was unable to go back to sleep. He gave up trying after another hour. Moving quietly so as not to disturb Hollis, he gathered clean sweats, showered in the main bathroom down the hall and went to the kitchen. He made coffee, then sat at the island and started going through the e-mails from Abby's computer.

The relationship had started out innocently enough: he was charming, polite, told good clean jokes. It sounded to Gibbs like they'd met at some kind of party, and Abby had turned him down when he'd asked her to go somewhere more private with him. Instead, they'd exchanged e-mail addresses. They chatted back and forth in email for two weeks before she agreed to meet him for lunch. The next e-mail from Abby told what a wonderful time she'd had, how much she'd loved the flowers he'd brought.

Things went well, nothing out of the ordinary for two people enjoying one another's company, for the first month. Then things started to get weird. Abby told him she thought their relationship was moving too fast. He accused her of cheating on him with someone else. He became possessive, paranoid, wondering if she was still interested in him. Challenging her to prove her fidelity. Gibbs saw it becoming dangerous, and clearly, so did Abby. Her e-mails got shorter, more carefully worded, and less frequent, even as his got longer and more numerous. Gibbs couldn't believe Abby hadn't called for help at that point. The man was clearly obsessing.

Gibbs thought maybe he had already hit her at least once by this time. Nothing was said explicitly, but there was an undercurrent in several of the exchanges that he was sorry about something he'd done, something Abby considered almost unforgivable. Still, she kept talking to him, trying to make it better. Trying to escape without hurting him.

She had finally pulled the plug almost five weeks before. He read that one twice. He forgot, sometimes, that she held two masters degrees, one of which was in criminology. She had clearly chosen every word carefully, to ensure that he would get the message, gently, without taking offense. She stroked his ego, put the blame solely on herself, and left no openings for any future relationship. Gibbs would have been pleased to have received this kind of Dear John letter from a woman.

Unfortunately, this guy didn't get it. As McGee had said, he spent the next week trying to get her to agree to see him again. Eleven e-mails that week from him, three responses from Abby. In the third, she told him she'd broken up with him because she was dating someone else.

That's when it got truly scary. He demanded to know who she was seeing, how the new guy was better than him, what the new guy had that he didn't. To her credit, Abby didn't fall for it. She kept trying to back him down, getting firmer, until she finally told him she didn't want to talk to him anymore and wouldn't be responding to any more e-mails. It was fun while it lasted, she told him, but it was over now, and he'd just have to accept that.

That was the last message from Abby. The guy kept it up, though. Begging, demanding, asking her why she wouldn't take his calls. He told her he was watching her, that if she wouldn't tell him who she was seeing, he'd find out for himself. That was the day before Abby had asked Gibbs to come by and install a deadbolt. The threat against Gibbs came two days after that.

As McGee had said, eight more threatening e-mails followed. In each, he begged her to come back to him, and threatened Abby or her 'new boyfriend' every time. It was typical of psychos everywhere: he threatened her in one breath, told her he loved her in the next.

The most recent e-mail he had was from a little more than a week ago. So there was nothing here since Gibbs suspected she'd been beaten on Tuesday last week. He needed to know what the guy had said since then. Hopefully McGee would have something by morning.

Gibbs went through the e-mails again, taking notes this time. Assuming Abby didn't pick him out of the photos, Gibbs was going to have to find this guy the hard way. And the more he understood about him, the better chance he would have of doing that.

He was about half way through the second time when Hollis appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was tousled from sleep, her hair everywhere, her eyes puffy, pillow lines on her face. He thought her beautiful.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked. She put her arms over his shoulders from behind and nuzzled his neck. He shook his head.

"What're you reading?" she asked. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

"E-mails from Abby's computer. The boyfriend."

"Anything of interest?"

"He's definitely section eight. She knew about a month after they started dating that he was trouble. Tried to break it off. He wouldn't let go."

"It happens," she said.

"Why wouldn't she tell me?" he asked.

"You said she was afraid for you. That she thought she was protecting you."

"I mean before he sent the threat."

"I don't know, Jethro. Maybe she didn't want to disappoint you."

Gibbs turned on the stool so he was facing her.

"Disappoint me? How?" he asked incredulously.

"Didn't you tell me this kind of thing happened to her once before?"

"Last year. She took out a restraining order, which he ignored. Came after her on the Navy Yard."

"So maybe she thinks she should have known better than to let it happen again. Maybe she thinks that's what you'd think. That it was somehow her fault, and that you'd be disappointed that she got herself into this situation again."

"Never," Gibbs said forcefully. "No woman 'lets' this kind of thing happen. It's not her fault, for God's sake."

Hollis held his face in both hands and kissed his forehead. "I know that, and you know that. But Abby's just a kid. Does she know that?"

"That 'kid' has got three bachelor's degrees, two masters degrees, all of which she received with honors. She's been published eight times in the forensic journals, has been honored repeatedly by community service organizations for her volunteer work, and she runs my forensics lab, where she's responsible for putting away more skells every month than any other member of my team, including me." There was a moment's stunned silence from Hollis. That was more than Jethro had said to her at one time since she'd met him. It was easily the longest speech she'd ever heard him give anyone.

"Easy, Jethro," she said finally. "I'm not the enemy here. And while Abby's resume is truly inspiring, she's still just a kid trying to impress her father."

Gibbs jerked away from her touch. Her hands fell to her sides.

"I'm not her father," he said tightly.

"No, but she is the only daughter you have left."

Gibbs stared at her for a moment, then stood and shoved past her, out the door to the back porch. He stared out into the dark, trying to reign in his emotions.

As he often did when things threatened to spin out of control, Gibbs fell back on his Marine training. He closed his eyes, took measured, deep breaths. He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms. He imagined himself lying on his stomach, looking down the scope of his sniper rifle, lining up his sights on his target. He reached inside himself for calm and relaxed. He imagined himself in Mexico 16 years ago, looking through his scope at the animal who had first sold drugs to American children, then murdered a Marine, then assassinated his family and, for awhile, stolen his hope. He felt his breathing and heart rate come into alignment, felt the pressure on his shoulder and cheek as if the butt of the rifle was really there. Felt himself calming. He mentally pulled the trigger and felt the loss wash over him. In years past, the loss had left him feeling buffeted like a tiny boat on open water. These days, recalling the moment when he had secured justice for Shannon and Kelly left him floating on calm seas.

Gibbs heard the door slide open and closed, heard her footsteps on the porch. He could feel her standing behind him, but she didn't touch him.

"I'm sorry, Jethro," she said softly. He said nothing for a long minute.

"My daughter died a long time ago," Gibbs finally said, opening his eyes. "But if she hadn't, if Kelly was still alive, and some bastard was doing this to her, I'd hope she would come to me and not try and hide it."

"Abby wants you to respect her. She wants you to believe she can take care of herself. She doesn't want you thinking you have to ride to her rescue every time she gets in a little over her head."

"I do respect her," Gibbs said. "And she knows it. And this is more than just a little over her head. She could have died!" Though she couldn't see his face, the anguish in his voice was clear.

"She knows that, too, now," Hollis said soothingly. "But right up to the moment she called McGee last night, she probably thought she could take care of it. That she could make him leave her alone and you'd never have to know. You'd never have to act. She was protecting you, Jethro, the only way she knew how." Gibbs spun to face her.

"Damn it, Hollis, I don't need protection. Not from Abby!"

"I know," Hollis said. "But we can't help trying to protect the ones we love."

That stopped him. Gibbs held her eye hard and she didn't back down. He took another deep breath and let it out in a sigh. He stepped sideways and leaned against the patio table.

"So what do I do now?" he asked.

"You find the guy, you do everything by the book, you get him charged and convicted and sentenced to a long prison term, and you do not violate his civil rights in any way." She stepped up close, into his space. He didn't push her away. "You talk to Abby, you tell her you respect her as a colleague, and you love her like she was your own, and if she ever tries to hide something this big from you again, you'll kill her yourself. Then you give her every help she needs to heal from this, both physically and emotionally." Hesitantly, she put her hands on his chest and leaned into him. "She loves you, Jethro. She'd do anything to keep you safe."

"I know that," Gibbs said.

Hollis took a half step closer and pressed herself against him. He brought his arms up behind her and held her tightly.

"She's safe for now, right?" Hollis asked quietly.

"Yes."

"And there's nothing more to be done until you have some more information on him, right?" Hollis asked.

"No," Gibbs admitted.

"Then come back to bed. You need to sleep. You can't take him on while you're exhausted."

Gibbs held her for a minute, then kissed her head and released her.

"You go. I'm gonna work on the boat for awhile," he said.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah." She kissed him, lightly, and stepped away.

"Alright. I love you, Jethro."

"I know," he answered. She went back into the house. Gibbs stood on the porch for awhile, looking at nothing, then went to the basement. He flipped on the work lights, picked up his tools, and went to work.

* * *

Again, it was the phone that woke him up. Still half-asleep, Gibbs reached for his pocket, bashed his knuckles on wood, jerked away and fell off the stool he was sitting on. He caught himself against the side of the boat. As the phone continued to ring, he realized it wasn't his cell, it was the cordless on the workbench. He stood upright and staggered to it.

"Gibbs," he answered.

"Boss? It's DiNozzo."

"What do you want?" he asked. It was bright in the basement, sunlight streaming in through the narrow windows up by the ceiling. Gibbs wondered how long he'd been asleep.

"Flowers were just delivered to Abby. They're from DeLaCruz."

"What? Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at Bethesda. They arrived 15 minutes ago. I interviewed the delivery driver, but he's just the driver, has no information on who sent them."

"Did Abby see them?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. She's pretty upset."

"What time is it?" Gibbs asked. His watch was up on the nightstand next to his bed, along with his cell.

"Quarter to ten," DiNozzo responded. Gibbs cursed.

"I'm on my way. You keep your eyes on her, DiNozzo. That dirtbag knows where she is." He hung up and took the stairs two at a time. Why the hell hadn't Hollis woken him?

In the kitchen, a note was propped against the coffee maker. He snatched at it, but couldn't read her handwriting without his glasses. Gibbs carried it with him to the bathroom and looked at it under the lights: You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you. Hope it's not too late. Love, Holly.

Not bothering with a second shower, Gibbs threw on fresh clothes, grabbed a large mug of the coffee Hollis had left for him, and was out the door 10 minutes after DiNozzo's call. He realized on the way that the electric shaver he kept in the car for days like this was dead. He'd have to wait until he got in.

He called McGee while he drove.

"Did you get into Abby's email?" he asked without preamble.

"A couple of hours ago. Abby didn't have the flu, Boss." McGee's voice was rough.

"I know. What'd you find?"

"He apologizes for losing control on Tuesday night. Last week. The night before she called in sick."

"Yeah, I get it, McGee. Anything since she went to the hospital?"

"One. Last night. He was at the hospital, watching. Saw DiNozzo leave. Followed him to Quantico."

"What?" Gibbs exclaimed. A clamor of horns told him he'd drifted out of his own lane. He jerked the wheel back, then looked over his shoulder and pulled over to stop.

"You alright, Boss?" McGee asked, having heard the horns.

"Continue," Gibbs said.

"He compares himself to Tony, wonders why she dumped you so fast, says…"

"Read it to me, McGee." There was a shuffle of papers, and McGee started reading aloud.

"Hey Angel. Are you alright? I heard you were in the hospital. I didn't know you were hurt so bad. I went to see you, but they wouldn't let me in. I'm really disappointed. Didn't you tell them we were close? I saw your newest conquest leaving your room. He's handsome, I can see why you picked him. Is he as good to you as I am? He can't be as good where it counts. You sure turned the other guy out quick. Too old, huh? I thought you should know that after he left your room, your new boyfriend picked up a hot-looking European chick and took her out to Quantico. I'm sure she wasn't his sister. What's he doing at Quantico, anyway? He's certainly not a Marine. You haven't known him that long and he's already sneaking around on you. He's not good enough for you, Angel. You have to get rid of him or I will. It's for the best. See you soon. Love, V."

"You read that a couple hours ago? Why the hell didn't you call me?" Gibbs demanded.

"I did, Boss. I left a dozen messages on your cell." Gibbs took the phone away from his ear long enough to notice the blinking light in the corner of the screen telling him he had messages. Twenty-three of them.

"Does DiNozzo know about this?"

"I didn't call him. Should I have?" McGee asked.

"It's fine. Anything on the email address?"

"Nothing. It's still working."

"Have you slept yet?" Gibbs pulled back out into traffic.

"A little," McGee said.

"Where?" he asked.

"Boss?"

"Where did you sleep?" he clarified.

"Oh. In Abby's office. Until Lt. Hanson got in. Thanks for the heater."

"Send the pictures you want Abby to look at to DiNozzo's PDA. Tell him not to do anything with them until I get there. Then go home and sleep. Tell your computer to call you if it finds something."

"It's alright, Boss. I'm good."

"It wasn't a suggestion. You're taking the late shift with Abby tonight. This guy's focusing his attention on whoever's with Abby, and you're going to have to be sharp. Sleep for six hours, then report back."

"Okay," McGee sounded relived. Gibbs smiled to himself. Speaking of loyalty: McGee would never willingly admit to Gibbs that he needed to take a break.

"You can do that, right? Tell your computer to call you?"

"Yeah, I can do that," McGee said.

"Good. Go home. And sleep. No working from home." Gibbs hung up. His next call was to Jenny's office.

"Special Agent Gibbs. Care to tell me where your team is this morning? You're up in the rotation. There was a homicide this morning and dispatch got no response from you or DiNozzo. They had to go to the back-up team."

Gibbs cursed under his breath. "Related to our rape case?"

"No. It was a domestic. Sailor got drunk and beat his wife. She hit him with a frying pan and knocked him unconscious, then fled the house. Ducky says he had a cerebral bleed and died on the kitchen floor."

Gibbs sighed. "Unless something breaks on our on-going cases, you're going to have to take us out of the rotation for a couple days."

There was silence from Jenny's end. "Excuse me?" she said finally. He could hear her getting her back up and bit off what would have been a smart-ass response in favor of an honest explanation.

"The guy who attacked Abby is stalking her. He was at Bethesda last night while DiNozzo and I were there. Apparently security stopped him from going to the room. He hung around until he saw DiNozzo leave, then followed him and Ziva to Quantico. Sent Abby an email threatening to get rid of DiNozzo. Then this morning he sent her flowers."

"Is she alright?" Jenny asked.

"DiNozzo's with her. I'm on my way there now." Gibbs took a breath. "The guy told Abby he's a Marine. Either he's not and he lied about that, or he is and he lied about his name, because we can't find him. DiNozzo, McGee and David haven't slept more than six hours a piece since it happened. Abby's supposed to be released today, and until we find him, she's going to need coverage. We're not going to be available for awhile."

"What about you, Jethro?" she asked.

"What about me?" he asked.

"When did you last sleep?"

"I slept. I'm going to talk to Abby, see if she can pick him out from some pictures McGee found. Then I'll be in."

"Do what you have to do. I'll clear it with dispatch. Abby's assault is one of your cases, too. Let me know if you need to borrow personnel."

"Will do," Gibbs said.

"And Jethro, if you identify him, do not go after him alone. If he's good enough to follow Tony and Ziva all the way to Quantico and not get noticed, you need backup."

"Yes, Director," he said with a smile, and closed his phone.

There was a large bouquet of flowers sitting on the floor outside Abby's room. Gibbs stopped to look at it: no card. These must be from their suspect. He tapped lightly on the door and pushed through.

"Morning, Abby," he said. "DiNozzo." Abby was sitting almost upright in bed. Her hair had been washed and brushed and put into two pig tails. Her color was better. The bruise on her cheek was darker, but her eyes were brighter and more animated. It was obvious that the surgical drugs had completely cleared her system. DiNozzo was again in the chair by the window. Several smaller vases of flowers – mostly in black and red – and some small stuffed animals covered the nightstands and the side table.

"Hi Gibbs," she said. "Vic sent me flowers."

"I heard." He kissed her cheek. "You feeling better this morning, otherwise?"

She shrugged, both shoulders rising and falling evenly. That was an improvement.

"Still hurts to breathe," she said. The fingers of her right hand fluttered over her chest.

"It will for awhile," he said. "Are they making you do breathing exercises?" He pulled the other chair up next to the bed.

"A respiratory guy came by, gave me that thing." She pointed to a blue and yellow plastic gizmo sitting on the bed table. "It hurts to use it."

"It's good for you," Gibbs said with a smile.

"So did you get Vic last night or what?" Gibbs glanced at DiNozzo, who shrugged slightly.

"There's a problem, Abby," Gibbs said.

"What problem?" Abby asked. She looked suddenly nervous.

"We are going to find him, I promise. But he lied to you. He's not who he said he was."

She blinked, looked at DiNozzo, then back at Gibbs. "What do you mean?"

"You remember talking to Ziva and I last night? Looking at the picture?"

Abby nodded. "You picked up the wrong guy."

"That's what we thought. But none of the other DeLaCruz's are at Quantico. McGee went through the files, pulled some pictures of men who might be him. I'd like you to look at them and see if you can pick him out. Okay?"

"Okay," Abby agreed.

"DiNozzo?" DiNozzo pulled out his PDA and started tapping.

"There's a couple dozen pictures, so I'm going to let you look at them while I talk to Tony in the hall, alright?" Abby nodded. DiNozzo handed her the little computer, and they stepped out.

"You have the card?" he asked. DiNozzo frowned. "That came with the flowers."

"Oh. Yeah." He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. It was a hospital specimen bag, the card sealed inside. "Abby said it's not his handwriting. I called the florist: it was a phone order, paid for with a pre-paid debit card. The message was dictated. He wasn't there to touch it, so no prints." Gibbs glanced at the card through the plastic, squinted, then felt at his pockets: no glasses. He'd left them in the car.

"It just says 'I love you, see you soon, V'," DiNozzo said. "There's nothing there."

"Damn it, this guy can't be this good," Gibbs said. "Did you notice you had a tail on the way to Quantico last night?"

"What?" DiNozzo said.

"He sent Abby an email last night. He was here. Saw you come out of Abby's room, followed you while you picked up Ziva and all the way to Quantico."

"What the hell?" DiNozzo exclaimed. "I picked Ziva up in front of the building, at NCIS. He couldn't have followed me onto the Yard unless he had a pass."

"Maybe he waited outside the gate."

DiNozzo shook his head in disgust at himself for not noticing. "There's plenty of security cameras watching the entrances. If he followed me through the gate, he'll be on tape."

"What time did you get there?"

"Maybe, 8:50, 9:00 at the latest," DiNozzo said. "I left here after 8:30, went straight there. I picked Ziva up in front of the building and left immediately."

"I'll take care of it." Gibbs put the card into his pocket. He rocked up onto his toes, stretching his calves. He rolled his shoulders back. Falling asleep sitting on a stool leaning against the boat was definitely not something he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

"We need to be ready for him when he comes for her again," Gibbs said.

"You think he will?" DiNozzo asked.

"Guaranteed." Gibbs scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Tony, he thinks you're her new boyfriend. The email told her to get rid of you, or he would. He's gunning for anyone he thinks is standing between him and Abby, and he's able to get close enough to watch you leave without raising anyone's attention. You've got to be careful. For both of you."

"I understand. You think his attention is off you now?" DiNozzo asked.

"We can't bank on it. You stay here, with her. If they release her, take her home and stay with her until I send someone. Keep your eyes open: full protection."

"Got it."

"And keep her focus on me. Don't let her know he's still sending emails, or that he knows about you."

"How can I keep her off her email?" DiNozzo asked.

"Her laptop is still at the office, and we never found her PDA. Just don't give her yours." Gibbs paused. "Damn it, your PDA." He spun back into the room. Abby was looking at the little computer, concern on her face. She looked up at them.

"Is he there, Abby?" Gibbs asked. He silently prayed she hadn't used the PDA to check her emails.

"No. I looked at all the pictures, and none of them is him. Where'd you get those pictures?"

"They're the rest of the Marines on the Marine One detail that match your description, plus every Victor DeLaCruz in the tri-state that matches."

"So he lied about his name?"

"And his detail," Gibbs said. "He might not even be a Marine."

"It's alright, Abby," DiNozzo jumped in and took back the machine. He closed the picture files and tapped the screen a few times before glancing up at Gibbs and shaking his head. She hadn't done it.

"We'll find him, Abby," Gibbs said. "Until we do, one of us is going to stay with you, to be sure you're safe."

Abby gave a small sigh. "You're not going to find him. He'll know you're looking for him, and he'll find you. And then he'll hurt you. I never should have told you his name." She twisted her fingers together in her lap.

"Abby, how could he know we're looking for him?" Gibbs asked. "We don't even know who he is."

"He'll know," Abby said. "He knows things. I don't know how. He just does." She wiped at a tear. "Like he knew I was here. How could he know that?"

"Abby," Gibbs sighed. He took her hand and pressed it against his chest.

DiNozzo spoke up. "We will find him, and he will not hurt you anymore. I swear it. He's not superman. He's just a bastard who thinks he can beat women and get away with it. He probably has gotten away with it before. But he's never hurt a friend of mine, and he has no idea the mistake he made by hurting you."

"We will find him, and we'll take him down," Gibbs added. "I've been doing this a lot of years, and I'm damn good at it. DiNozzo here is about half as good as he thinks he is, which means he's not bad either. McGee's working on tracing the source of the emails he's been sending you, and any minute now, he's going to call and tell me where to go pick him up."

"But you won't pick him up yourself, right?" Abby said.

"Abby," Gibbs said reproachfully.

"No, Gibbs. You promised. You can't go," Abby insisted.

"I know I promised," Gibbs said. "And while I don't believe he's any threat to me, I will keep that promise. I need you to answer a few more questions about him, though, in case McGee lets me down."

"McGee has never let you down," Abby said firmly. Gibbs hid a smile. There she was.

"Just in case. Tell me where you met."

They talked for another half an hour. She said DeLaCruz told her he lived on base at Quantico, but she'd never been there. They'd always met out somewhere, or in later days, he picked her up at her place. He drove a black Suburban with Virginia plates, maybe a T and a 3 in it. He'd been over several times in the first month. He spent the night twice. He said his birthday was in September, but always laughed her off when she asked how old he was. He told her he'd joined the Marine Corps straight out of high school, trained as a Marine Sniper before being injured in a training accident. Then he went to helicopter maintenance school, worked aboard various aircraft carriers for just under 10 years, then applied to Marine One. He was very particular in his habits and grooming, borderline OCD. He liked outdoor activities. He knew how to sail. He bought her several expensive gifts, all of which she returned to him when they broke up. She didn't have any pictures of him: he'd taken a few of her, but he'd always been camera shy. She only had one phone number for him, the cell number they already had.

It all added up to nothing, Gibbs thought as he left Bethesda. It gave them some points to use to confirm the suspect's identity when they found him, but nothing to help them get to that end. NCIS's resident sketch artist was on the way, which would at least give them an idea of what to be on the lookout for.

* * *

Gibbs entered the Navy Yard through the main gate at Ninth and M Streets. He'd never given much thought to who was monitoring the security cameras that watched the two unmanned employee gates and the two manned public gates that protected the Navy Yard. He spoke to the guard, who – after carefully inspecting his ID – pointed him to the security officers' station. Inside, he again presented his ID and explained to the watch commander what he needed. The commander assigned him a junior officer who showed him the recordings from the previous night.

The security cameras covered the areas of the driveway, gate and guard house from every angle. He could see 100 yards up Ninth Street beyond M Street, and about half that distance south where Ninth Street became Dahlgren Avenue after it entered the Yard. The officer told him that distance was doubled in daylight, but approach control wasn't the purpose of the cameras. There were hard-stop barriers buried in the pavement in front of the gate, and if a vehicle tried to ram through by racing down Ninth, they could be raised in a second.

It took a few minutes to find the right time frame: It had apparently taken DiNozzo longer than he thought to travel the 22 miles from Bethesda. His car appeared at the gate at 9:13. Gibbs had the officer track the car from every available angle as it approached and went through the gate. No car followed him in, but a set of headlights approached from the same direction DiNozzo had come about 30 seconds later, paused facing the camera, then turned away to the right side of the picture and out of view. The vehicle was a large SUV of some kind, dark in color. Headlights shining directly at the camera kept them from seeing any hint of a front license plate, and the angle was wrong to get rear plates as it turned away. There was nothing special about the vehicle that stood out in the dark. Four minutes later, DiNozzo's car exited to the right, so there was no second chance at the SUV, if it was still there.

Gibbs had the kid run it again. It could be a Suburban. It could also be an Escalade or an Excursion. Impossible to tell. There just wasn't enough. Gibbs asked him to make a copy of the tape anyway then thanked the watch commander and headed for his own parking lot. He would call the MPs at Quantico and see if they had anything better. If the guy was a Marine, maybe he'd followed DiNozzo on base.

Without more information, Gibbs figured there were only two ways this could go: McGee could come up with a location on the computer, or the guy could make another run at Abby. If he tried at the hospital, DiNozzo would ready for it. Hospital security had been notified and they wouldn't ask a lot of questions if DiNozzo hit the panic button. Hopefully it wouldn't go that way. Hopefully McGee would save them. God knows he'd done it before.

Gibbs stopped for coffee on his way into the office. He opened the filing cabinet drawer where he kept his shaving kit and took out his shaver. Turning it on, he got barely a buzz. That one was dead too. He threw it back and shoved the drawer shut. He noticed the message light on his desk phone was blinking, which reminded him he still hadn't checked the voicemail on his cell. What a day it was shaping up to be.

* * *

To be continued... Feedback and reviews appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lying Eyes Part 12**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Abby was released from the hospital just after lunch as expected. DiNozzo called to say he was taking her home. He had packed a bag and was prepared to spend the night if needed. Gibbs assured him he would be relieved before then. He again reminded DiNozzo to be careful for both of them.

Quantico base security had nothing for him. They had DiNozzo's car coming through the gate, but no sign of the SUV. Another dead end.

The sketch artist returned from the hospital with a picture of Abby's attacker. Gibbs made copies and kept one at his desk. He had to admit the guy was handsome. He understood why Abby would have noticed him. The guy could easily pass for a Marine: He had the square jaw and wide forehead that lead to the Marine nickname 'jarhead.' When McGee got in, he'd have him run the sketch against the SRBs of all armed forces personnel assigned to the tri-state area, on the off chance the guy was somewhere in the military. Gibbs committed his face to memory. He wanted to recognize this jackass when he finally saw him.

Jenny had a lunch with someone higher up the chain of command than Gibbs. When she returned, he met with her in her office. She was understanding about what Gibbs' team was up to, but she wanted an update on their primary case. She needed to be sure they weren't letting it get lost in the hunt for Abby's attacker. So, late afternoon found Gibbs preparing to write a progress report on an open case, something he truly despised. One of the few benefits of being team leader was having underlings to write reports for him. But the three empty desks surrounding his said this time it was on him. He briefly considered calling McGee in to write the report for him. But that would be beneath him. The kid needed to sleep.

Gibbs was summarizing the suspect descriptions they had from their victims and witnesses when his fingers suddenly froze on the keyboard. His eyes went from the words he was typing to the sketch beside him. Tall, over 6 feet, strong build, military bearing and haircut, nice eyes. Claimed to be a Marine. No.

Gibbs tore off his glasses, grabbed the sketch and hustled down to the lab. Lt. Hanson was in, doing something on the computers.

"You have the computer extrapolation of our rape suspect from the security camera footage?" he asked without introduction. She jumped a little at his sudden appearance.

"Yes, Special Agent Gibbs."

"Run it against this, then run this against all the witness sketches we have." He held up the sketch. She took it and started working. Gibbs stepped up to the plasma, waiting. When a minute went by and nothing happened, he turned back to her.

"It'll take a few minutes, Agent Gibbs," Hanson said. Gibbs nodded and started to pace.

It took five minutes before the sketch appeared on the big screen. The computer composite appeared next to it and the computer began working. A moment later she spoke.

"Eighty-five percent match on the security tape extrapolation, which only had a 30 percent accuracy rating in the first place."

"Which means what?" he asked.

"Depends on how you look at it. This sketch is an 85 percent match to what the computer extrapolated from what was on the tape. That's good, if the computer was closer to right than wrong. If the computer's extrapolation is too far off the mark, then this sketch is an 85 percent match to someone who's not your suspect."

"What about the witness sketches?"

"That will take longer." The composite disappeared, and she started working. Gibbs wandered the lab, trying to get his mind around this development. What if the guy who'd been beating Abby was their rape-homicide suspect? If it was possible, Gibbs would have to find out from Abby if she thought he'd ever drugged her, or God forbid, raped her. And how exactly was he supposed to even ask her that?

He supposed the easiest way to approach it would be to ask Abby if she could alibi DeLaCruz for any of the nights of the attacks. If she was with him on even one of the nights of the attacks, it would eliminate him without having to ask the question.

But what if it was the same guy? Then Abby would have been dating, and being intimate with, a rapist and murderer. How was she going to live with that?

"Goddamn it," he said aloud.

"Agent Gibbs?" Lt. Hanson questioned.

"Nothing," Gibbs replied, and moved over to the windows. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. If it was true, they'd finally have something, might actually be able to get a handle on this case. But it wasn't how he wanted to do it. He did not want it to be true. He would give anything for it not to be true.

"All the sketches are potential matches, within 80 percent accuracy," Hanson announced. Gibbs spun back toward the her.

"So how likely is it that this sketch is our suspect? Overall?"

"I couldn't really say…" she began.

"No one's going to ask you to swear to it, Lieutenant. Just tell me what you think."

"It's a moderately high match. The computer model is based on only a piece of his face. That piece, here, is a very high match." She showed him an isolated piece of the sketch, matching it to the same piece of the computer model. Gibbs could see the similarities.

"The witness and victim sketches are only as good as the memory of the people who described them, so some discrepancies are to be expected. Even so, there are no significant differences between the sketch you gave me and those, and there are a significant number of similarities. I couldn't swear to it, but I'd say you've probably got a match. Where did the sketch come from? Did you find a good witness?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Give it here." He took the sketch back and got on the elevator. It started moving and he flipped the stop switch. He needed a minute to think.

"Damn it all to hell," he said aloud. He hit the elevator wall with the side of his fist, making the car shake. Why her? It's not enough that she took a beating to protect him, she's got to deal with sleeping with a raping murdering bastard, too? He punched the wall again, this time hitting the knuckles he'd bruised against the boat that morning. Gibbs cursed again and shook out his fist. He stood for a moment under the emergency lights, letting his thoughts spin. What was he supposed to do now? On the one hand, it was a bonus to their case: Abby had spent time with the guy, could definitively identify him, and might with more direct questioning be able to provide them more details about his habits that could lead to finding him.

On the other hand, it was Abby, and even after he got her head around who she'd been dating, he wasn't sure either one of them was going to be up to another round of interrogation, especially not if actual interrogation was required. So what was he going to do, let DiNozzo or David question her? Not while he was still breathing. Abby was his, and no one was going to put her through that. If there was questioning to be done, he'd have to do it himself. But how? How could he ask her if she'd been drugged, if she'd been raped? And was he ready for the answers? He was already fully prepared to kill this guy, just on what Gibbs knew he'd done to Abby. Now add in eight rapes and a murder, and the odds that Gibbs would kill him outright were getting near even.

What was it that Hollis had said last night, that he wasn't allowed to violate the guy's civil rights in any way? Gibbs wasn't sure he trusted himself that far. There would have to be witnesses, lots of them, when he went to get the guy. And he would go, despite what he'd promised Abby. That was before. Before it turned out they'd been hunting this guy already almost a month.

Almost a month. That rang a bell too. The first rape was reported almost a month ago. He'd have to check the dates, but according to the emails, Abby had broken it off with DeLaCruz just about that same time. Well damn that, too. Maybe that was his trigger: Could Abby refusing to see him have lead to some kind of break that made him go after other women? Could that be why all the victims had dark hair? As much as Gibbs didn't want it to be true, he didn't believe in coincidences. There were just too many things adding up.

Gibbs smacked at the control panel to restart the elevator. He hit the button for the top floor.

"Is she in?" he asked Cynthia as he strode into Jenny's outer office.

"Yes, Special Agent Gibbs, you can go…" he was already through the door. He closed it behind himself. Jenny took her glasses off and looked up at him.

"Hello, Special Agent Gibbs. You have that report for me?" she asked.

"Lt. Hanson ran the sketch of Abby's attacker against the victim and witness sketches from the rapes. Came up with a high probability of a match."

"What?" Jenny asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Looks like he's the suspect in both cases."

"Are you sure?" Jenny asked.

"Hell no, I'm not sure." He sat heavily in one of her guest chairs. "The general description of the rape suspect matches what Abby gave us in every aspect. Lt. Hanson reports an 80 percent match between the sketch Abby did and the witness sketches, and an 85 percent match on the computer composite from the security footage of the homicide victim."

Jenny considered that. "Have you told Abby?" she asked.

"No."

"Jethro, you have to tell her."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Gibbs said, a touch of anger flavoring his voice. "'Abby, the guy who beat you up also raped eight women, killed the last, and by the way, have you ever woken up from a drug-induced coma and felt like you might have had sex but don't remember it'?"

"I wouldn't suggest doing it that way," Jenny said reproachfully.

Suddenly feeling restless, Gibbs got up and walked around behind Jenny's desk, looking out the windows at the Navy Yard. Jenny turned in her chair to look at his back.

"Did you make it to bed last night? Or did you sleep in the basement?"

"I made it to bed. I slept in the basement for awhile," Gibbs said, and instantly regretted it.

"Lt. Col. Mann spend the night?" she asked. He turned to her, eyed her up and down, and sighed.

"Can we let that alone, Jen? I don't think I'm up to it," Gibbs said. Jenny took pity on him.

"Okay. But you look tired. You haven't shaved. And you don't have coffee in your hand. I worry about you."

He turned back to the window. She stood and moved up behind him. She hesitated, then reached up and laid her hands on his shoulders. He flinched, but didn't turn. She started to knead his muscles.

"God, Jethro, you're so tense," she said. He leaned his forehead against the window glass and submitted to her massage. She had such talented hands.

"Director, I'm sorry to interrupt but…oh! Excuse me!" Jenny instantly withdrew and spun toward Cynthia, who had come in without knocking. Gibbs looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Jenny was blushing. He smiled and moved back to the visitor's side of the desk, but not before leaning in and whispering just loud enough for Cynthia to hear: "Busted." To his delight, Jenny reddened further and brought one hand to her face. She cleared her throat.

"What is it, Cynthia?" Jenny asked.

"Commander Slater is here."

"Thank you," Jenny said. Cynthia smiled and withdrew.

"I have a meeting," Jenny said. The blush was fading, but her eyes were still bright. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"I might need another massage later," Gibbs smiled.

"With the case, or with Abby," Jenny said. "Go away, Jethro." But she was smiling.

Downstairs, Gibbs grabbed his coat. He had no better idea how he was going to approach Abby, but Jenny had a point: He was tired, and he hadn't had nearly enough coffee today.

He was just leaving the building when his cell rang. It was McGee. He sounded excited.

"Boss, the computer called me."

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"Remember you told me to have the computer call me if it found something? It called."

"What'd it find?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I just woke up. I'm still at home. The program is running on my computer in the office."

"Why didn't you take it home?" Gibbs asked.

"Um… you told me not to, Boss."

Gibbs remembered that. "If I look at it, will it tell me?" he asked. He reached his coffee supplier and motioned for his regular.

"Uh, I don't think that would be a good idea, Boss. If you hit the wrong thing, you might, I mean, the results might, well…"

"Okay, I get it. I won't touch it. But you better get here sooner rather than later."

Gibbs snapped his phone shut and paid for his coffee. Maybe this thing would resolve itself before he had to talk to Abby at all.

Back inside, Gibbs couldn't help himself. He wandered over to McGee's desk and sat down behind it. The monitor was covered with lines of text, too small for him to read without his glasses. In the middle was a flashing green box, also full of text. Gibbs took out his glasses and put them on. He looked around, saw no one paying him any attention, and leaned in to examine the monitor.

"Does McGee know you are fooling with his computer?" Gibbs looked up suddenly as Ziva came into the squad room.

"McGee works for me, remember?" Gibbs growled. He looked at the screen again. It was letters, numbers, what might be a phone number, more letters that didn't spell anything… It didn't mean anything to him.

"He does. And so do I." She went to her desk and dumped her gear. She was wearing the bright orange beanie he had gotten used to seeing her in. It had appeared suddenly late in the spring. He knew from watching her with it that she had a strong sentimental attachment to it, but he didn't know where it had come from or what the attachment was about. As he watched her over the top of his glasses, he saw her remove the beanie, fold it carefully, and press it to her lips for a moment before slipping it into her coat pocket. She caught him watching.

"What?" she asked.

"Can you run a facial recognition scan, an unidentified sketch against known photos?" He returned to his own desk.

"Sure. We have done it many times," Ziva replied.

"I have a witness sketch I want run against military personnel stationed in the tri-state area. Can you do it, or do I have to wait for McGee?"

"I can do it," Ziva said.

"Good. Here." He held out Abby's sketch.

"Who is it?" Ziva asked, looking at the picture.

"It's the guy who assaulted Abby. McGee showed her photos of every DeLaCruz in the tri-state who matched her description, and every man on the Marine One detail that even vaguely looked like him. No luck. If the guy is really a Marine, this sketch should match someone."

"Alright." She took it to her desk and started working. Gibbs drank his coffee.

"You know, Gibbs, this sketch could be the rapist," Ziva called a few minutes later. Gibbs choked a little.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Sure. Marine looks, nice eyes, tight sides haircut,"

"High and tight," Gibbs corrected. "You think he has nice eyes?"

"Sure. I would go out with him." She shrugged.

"It might be the same guy," Gibbs said.

Ziva looked surprised. "Really?"

"Moderate probability," Gibbs said, quoting Lt. Hanson.

"Does Abby know?"

"No," Gibbs answered.

"Will you tell her?" she asked. Gibbs turned back to his computer without answering. He resumed working on the report, adding in the thought that there might be a connection between this suspect and Abby's attack.

"You have to tell her," Ziva said a few minutes later. Gibbs looked up sharply. Ziva was staring at her computer screen.

"I know that, Officer David," Gibbs said tightly. "Damned if I know how, though."

"I could do it," Ziva offered, and met his eye.

"No," Gibbs said. "It's on me."

* * *

McGee burst into the squad room half an hour later. Gibbs was just about finished the report, his concentration too scattered to have it done any faster. Without bothering to remove his coat or do anything more than drop his gear, McGee looked at the computer screen. He spent a moment reading it, then grabbed paper and pen and started scribbling.

"Well?" Gibbs said impatiently. He came over to McGee's desk.

"I've got three additional email addresses being sent from the same IP address as the one that sent the anonymous email to Abby's computer. One Hotmail, one g-mail, one from… AOL. Excellent."

"So where do we pick him up?"

"It's not that simple, Boss. The original anon-a-mail account was untraceable. These three might not be. Especially the one from AOL. I'm actually surprised he's got an AOL account: they're typically the most cooperative with authorities when it comes to releasing subscriber information. All we need is a warrant, and they'll give us everything they have."

"Go talk to legal and get us one."

McGee paused. "Um, we don't have enough for a warrant yet."

"You know there's an AOL account coming from the same place as an anonymous email threatening to kill a federal agent, and it's not enough to get a warrant to find out where that place is?" Gibbs asked with a growl.

"The program I used to find the email addresses wasn't exactly… well, available to us," McGee admitted. Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"What did you do, McGee?"

"I tried to tell you, Boss, when I started. I…" he looked around, and lowered his voice. "I tapped into the FBI's communications net. They were authorized under the Patriot Act to scan emails randomly to look for certain combinations of terminology. I hacked into the program they use and adapted it to do the search we needed. But I can't use it to get a warrant."

"So what good is it to us?" Gibbs demanded.

"Now that I have an email address issued by a legitimate internet service provider, I can trace it myself."

"Legally?" Gibbs asked. McGee shrugged and didn't answer. Gibbs sighed.

"Alright. Do whatever you have to do. Your priority is finding this guy, whatever it takes. Just don't get caught."

"Got it," McGee said. He took off his coat and stowed his gun, then sat behind his computer. Gibbs considered for a moment, then continued.

"There's more," he said. McGee looked up at him.

"There's a strong possibility that the guy claiming to be DeLaCruz is our rape suspect."

McGee looked startled. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"The descriptions. They match generally, and I had Lt. Hanson run some comparisons which came up a pretty high match. We're going to work that theory until it proves wrong."

"Okay. I'll find him."

"I know you will," Gibbs said. He returned to his own desk.

"McGee," Gibbs called when he was seated. McGee looked up again. "Good job."

McGee grinned and got to work.

Gibbs finished his report and submitted it to Jenny's office. He was back at his desk wondering what his next move should be and thinking about calling Hollis when his phone rang. It was MTAC. They had a report for him on the first 24 hours' activity on the phone number he'd asked them to watch. He jogged up the stairs and was handed several pages stapled together. He returned to his desk and started to read through it. He was half way down the first page when he cursed out loud. Both McGee and Ziva looked up.

"What is it?" Ziva spoke first.

"DeLaCruz's phone has been used eight times in the last 24 hours. Six of the calls were long enough to trace, and they didn't let us know. Dammit!"

"When was the last one?" McGee asked.

"A four minute call two hours ago, to Abby's cell. From… three blocks from her house." Gibbs dropped the report and snatched at his desk phone. He called DiNozzo's cell.

"DiNozzo! You alright?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine, Boss," DiNozzo said. He heard something strange in Gibbs' voice. "What's wrong?"

"The suspect used his phone two hours ago to call Abby's cell, from three blocks away."

"Why didn't we know this two hours ago?" DiNozzo asked.

"Glitch in MTAC. No sign of him?"

"Nope. All's quiet here. Abby didn't get the call: her cell is still in my trunk. She hasn't asked for it."

"Keep it away from her. I'll come by and get it, so if he calls again at least we'll know a little sooner. How's Abby?"

"She's sleeping."

"And you?" he asked. He returned to scanning the phone report.

"Not sleeping. But there's nothing to eat here," he complained.

"Is Abby hungry?"

"She had lunch at the hospital. I'm not sure she's up to eating again. I haven't eaten since coffee and toast at 5:30."

"Ziva will relieve you at 4. Think you'll survive until then?"

There was a sigh on the other end. "I suppose."

"Good. Stay sharp. He probably knows you're there." He hung up.

"She alright?" McGee asked.

"She's fine. Ziva, anything on those photos yet?"

"Still running," Ziva supplied.

"Go home and pack an overnight bag, then go relieve DiNozzo at Abby's."

"I thought I was going to Abby's tonight, Boss," McGee piped up.

"I need you here," Gibbs said.

"What about the scan?" Ziva asked, indicating the computer.

"McGee will monitor it," Gibbs said.

"Okay." She gathered her things. Gibbs turned to McGee.

"Have MTAC transfer the trace on the phone to your computer. If he makes another call, let me know. We might be able to end this thing the easy way."

With a nod, McGee called up to MTAC. Gibbs briefly considered calling Jenny to complain about MTAC's failure to notify him when the calls were made, but figured it wasn't worth it. She'd either tell him MTAC had bigger fish to fry, or she'd take his side and rattle cages up there, which could be counterproductive for his future needs. When McGee hung up, Gibbs was putting on his coat.

"Ziva's running a facial recognition scan on a sketch Abby came up with, against military personnel in the tri-state. Keep an eye on it and call me if it makes a match, or if you find the owner of that email address. I'm going to get Abby's cell. I'll be back in an hour."

* * *

When Gibbs got to Abby's, he sat in the sedan for a minute, scanning the neighborhood. No big black SUV. No one sitting in any vehicles. Nothing that looked out of the ordinary.

He grabbed the pizzas he'd brought and went upstairs. He knew in his gut that the guy was here, but he didn't have that prickly feeling he usually got when someone was watching him. So, close, but not right here.

Gibbs stood on the porch for a moment before he knocked. He examined the area around him. Where would the guy had to have been to take the picture of Gibbs working on the door? The photo was almost a straight angle, meaning the guy had to be at the second floor level or slightly lower. There was a small single-story building across the street: he might have been on the roof. Next door was another apartment building: he might have been inside one of those apartments, or just standing on the porches. Gibbs wasn't sure he would have noticed if someone had been taking pictures right out in public, if they hadn't spent too long doing it. After all, he was just there to put in a lock and wasn't expecting trouble.

He knocked and a minute later, DiNozzo opened the door a few inches, standing behind it. When he saw Gibbs, and more importantly, the pizzas, he stepped out of the way and let Gibbs in, holstering his weapon.

"Oh, Boss, I love you," DiNozzo said as he reached for the pizzas. Gibbs let him take them. He locked the door behind himself and followed DiNozzo into the kitchen. He noticed the missing kitchen chair, but there were no other signs that the house had been a crime scene. No sign of fingerprint dust, the boot prints or blood that he'd seen in the photos, or any of the other damage.

"Nice job cleaning up in here," Gibbs said. DiNozzo, in the process of pulling out a slice, nodded.

"Thanks." Gibbs moved through the apartment to Abby's bedroom. She was lying on her right side under the blankets, sleeping soundly. DiNozzo came up behind him.

"How long's she been asleep?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Since right after we got home. She took the pain pills the doctor gave her, and it knocked her out."

Gibbs watched her for a minute, then pulled the bedroom door mostly shut. He and DiNozzo returned to the kitchen. DiNozzo took a jug of juice out of the fridge and poured two glasses.

"It's all she's got to drink other than bottled Caf-Pow and tap water," he said when Gibbs' eyebrows rose in response to being handed the glass of dark juice.

"What is it?"

"Smells like some kind of mixed cranberry juice. Maybe grape. I haven't had any yet," he said, and drank down half the glass. "It's not bad."

Gibbs drank from his own glass. DiNozzo was right: it wasn't bad. A little sharp, but tolerable. He'd prefer coffee, but Abby didn't drink coffee at home and didn't even have instant, not that Gibbs would drink instant unless someone held a gun to his head.

DiNozzo went down to get Abby's cell out of his car while Gibbs put the unopened pizza in the fridge. Ziva, and Abby if she was up to it, could have it for dinner. He drank more juice and took a slice. When DiNozzo returned, they sat at the table and Gibbs updated him on the case. They tossed ideas around for half an hour, finishing the pizza and most of the jug of juice, before Gibbs decided he had to get back. He stood and felt a wave of dizziness that made him stagger.

"Whoa, Boss, you alright?" DiNozzo said as he grabbed for Gibbs' arm to steady him. Gibbs ran a hand over his face.

"Yeah, fine." He blinked several times and shook his head to clear it. Wow. He must be more tired than he thought.

"You sure?" DiNozzo asked.

"Fine. Ziva will be here within the hour. You can go home then. I'll call you if we find anything else tonight. If you don't hear from me, be back here by six in the morning. It'll be either me or McGee."

Gibbs moved out of the house and down to the sedan. He felt lightheaded and a little nauseous. He'd had nothing to eat all day, and nothing to drink but coffee. Pizza with everything on it probably hadn't been a good first meal.

He got behind the wheel and started the car, pulling out into traffic. God he was tired. He yawned and again shook his head. Hard.

As he got on the freeway headed back to the Navy Yard, the road started to swim in front of him. He narrowed his vision, focusing hard on the car in front of him. He opened the windows to let air in and felt it revive him. But a few miles later, the road suddenly grayed out and he felt himself fall forward against the steering wheel. Blaring horns brought him upright in his seat.

Something wasn't right. He changed lanes, swerving to avoid hitting a car that suddenly appeared out of his blind spot, and headed for the next exit. Gibbs managed to get on the exit ramp, but before he got to the end of it, he felt his shoulder hit the drivers' window, inexplicably followed by the sensation of falling. Then there was a jarring crash as the sedan hit the right side guardrail and he was thrown toward the passenger side. Gibbs jammed on the brakes and the car came to a stop. He threw it in park and sat back in his seat. What the hell was wrong with him?

Gibbs closed his eyes. If he could just rest for a minute…

His eyes popped open and he unlocked his seatbelt, fumbling to get himself free of the strap. He knew this feeling: he'd been drugged. He opened the door and rolled out of the car, not even feeling it when he hit the pavement on his hands and knees. He struggled to reach through his coat to his cell.

"Sir, are you alright?" There were hands on his shoulders. Someone there. He looked up, but his vision was narrow and out of focus.

"Phone," Gibbs said. The person, a man, didn't understand.

"I already called 9-1-1. Troopers are on the way."

"No," Gibbs said, shaking his head. He sat back on the ground, leaning against the sedan, and fumbled for his phone. He finally got his hands on it and dragged it out. He made two false starts before he managed to speed-dial Jenny's cell. It rang twice and she picked up.

"Drugged," he said.

"Jethro?" Jenny asked.

"Abby's… Send help... Drugged."

"Jethro, what's wrong?"

"Drugged. Tony… Abby." Gibbs realized he wasn't making any sense, and he grabbed his hair in one fist, pulling hard. The pain roused him just enough.

"Send medics. Police. To Abby's. He drugged us. He's moving on Abby."

"Someone drugged you? At Abby's?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to cry. She had it.

"Stay on the phone, Jethro. I'm sending help now. Don't hang up." He heard her shouting something in the background, but it didn't matter anymore. She would send help. Abby and Tony would be okay. He felt his fingers go limp and the phone fell from his hand. He could still hear Jenny's voice, shouting at him from far away.

"Are you alright, mister?" the man next to him said. Gibbs looked up at him. He could barely see, his eyes drifting shut of their own accord. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized his breathing was becoming critically slow, his muscles losing all strength. He suddenly couldn't hold himself upright and he fell sideways. Only the restraining hands of the man standing over him keeping him from hitting the pavement hard. He felt himself being dragged, but it didn't matter.

The man who had witnessed the accident and called 9-1-1 dragged Gibbs off the roadway and onto the shoulder. As he laid Gibbs out, he noticed the gun in its holster on Gibbs' hip. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but figured the guy was pretty much unconscious and was certainly not dangerous. Another bystander brought the phone Gibbs dropped and offered it to the man. He heard the voice still shouting and put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said.

"Who is this?" the woman on the phone said.

"Frank Viddick. I was passing by, saw the accident," he explained.

"What accident?" the woman asked.

"The guy who was talking to you on this phone was just in a car accident. He's unconscious. Ambulance is on the way."

"Sir, my name is Jenny Shepard. I'm the director of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. That man is a federal agent. He's been drugged. You have to tell the medics when they get there."

"I will," he assured her.

"Where are you?" she asked.

Viddick gave the location. "He just sideswiped the guard rail. The car's pretty trashed, but I don't even think he's injured."

"Tell the medics to take him to Bethesda Naval Hospital."

"Okay."

There was a shout from the second bystander as Gibbs began to shake. His arms and legs splayed out, twitching hard, and his head snapped sharply to the right. The veins in his neck were standing out in stark relief and his eyes were slightly bugged out. He coughed, choked a few times, and foam began to flow out of his mouth.

"He's having a seizure. I have to go," Viddick said.

"A seizure?" Jenny asked, her voice rising. "Wait!"

Viddick snapped the phone shut and set it aside. He'd been trained in first aid for years, and he knew what to do, even if he'd never actually worked on a real person before. He knelt down and grabbed Gibbs' hip and shoulder, rolling him onto his stomach. He made sure his face was turned so his airway was open. The foam flowed out onto the ground. Viddick waited for the spasms to stop, then returned him to his back. He opened Gibbs' airway and checked for breathing. Nothing.

"Damn," he said. "You know CPR?" he asked the other bystander. The man shook his head. Okay then, it was up to him. He took a breath to steady his nerves, then tilted Gibbs' head back, and began rescue breathing. After two breaths, he felt at Gibbs' neck. No pulse. He put his hands together and started pressing on his chest.

Viddick had gone through three cycles of breaths and compressions when a Virginia State Trooper rolled up. The trooper sized up the situation and knelt to assist. The fire medics were only a minute behind him. Viddick immediately told them that Gibbs had been drugged, but he didn't know what with. While a firefighter and one of the medics continued CPR, the other inserted a breathing tube in his throat, started an IV and injected Gibbs with a drug antidote. When nothing happened, he administered a second dose. The trooper quickly went through his pockets, removing his wallet, badge and gun. After another minute of no response to the antidote, the medics put him on a gurney and took off for the hospital, still pumping at his chest and blowing air down his throat.

* * *

To Be Continued... Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	13. Chapter 13

**Lying Eyes Part 13**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

After Gibbs left the apartment, Tony locked the front door behind him and returned to the kitchen. He fell into a chair. He suddenly felt tired, like he hadn't slept in a week. He'd only gotten about four hours the night before, and had been fighting to stay awake all day. He put his head down on the table. He would just rest here for a minute, then clean up and get ready to go home.

Abby woke to the sound of heavy pounding. She rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head, trying to drown it out. She didn't want to be awake yet. She felt fuzzy, disconnected. The meds the doctor had given her were great, though; she felt hardly any pain. But she was hot. She was wearing her 'skeleton suit,' a black sweatshirt and pants decaled with bones. It was one of her favorite comfort outfits, and easy to put on, which is why she'd chosen it when Tony brought her home from the hospital. But now she was too hot. She wasn't usually home during the day, so her thermostat was programmed to turn the air conditioning off. Tony must not have turned it on. The pounding intensified, and there were shouts. She lifted the pillow and frowned. What were they saying?

There was a loud crashing sound, and the voices grew louder. She thought they were saying… Police?

A uniformed police officer appeared in her bedroom doorway, gun drawn.

"Miss? Are you alright?" he asked. Abby nodded, confused.

"I need you to stay where you are for just a minute, okay?" Abby nodded again. The officer jerked open the closet door and led with his gun. He closed the door and searched the small en suite bathroom, then returned to the bedroom.

"Bedrooms clear!" he shouted, to someone other than Abby. He holstered his gun and approached the bed.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

Abby tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. She swallowed a couple times, and cleared her throat.

"Abby Sciuto."

"Okay, Abby. I'm Mike Kirby, with the Alexandria Police. Everything's going to be alright. You wait here, okay? I'll be back in just a minute." Abby nodded again. The officer disappeared. She didn't understand what was happening. Why was there a police officer in her house? And what had all that crashing been about?

Abby waited a minute, then sat up. She felt a pull at her chest and a sudden pain across her lower back that made her gasp. Okay, not such a good idea, sitting up. Nonetheless, she didn't lay down again. Something was happening out there. She rested a minute, then carefully stood up. She couldn't quite straighten all the way and had to hobble across the floor taking small steps. She leaned against the bedroom doorframe and looked down the hall. An ambulance gurney was there, no one with it. She frowned again. That didn't make any sense. If there were medics here, they should be here for her. But they weren't. She shuffled slowly down the hall toward the living room. As she turned into the room, she saw police officers, paramedics, firefighters, all crowded around someone lying on the floor. She frowned again.

"Tony?" she called out. One of the officers, the one who'd been in her bedroom, immediately came to her.

"It's alright, Abby. The medics are taking care of him."

Abby tried to look through the men to see what was going on. One of the medics was kneeling next to the person on the floor. It looked like Tony. It was Tony.

"Tony!" she cried and tried to push toward him. But she had no strength and the officer easily stopped her. One of the firefighters brought over a kitchen chair, and the officer helped her to sit in it. He crouched in front of her.

"He's been drugged, Abby. Do you know what with?" the officer said. Abby stared at him.

"Drugged? Tony doesn't take drugs," she said.

"I know. We were told someone had drugged him, on purpose. It would really help if you could tell us what they might have used."

"I don't know. I was sleeping," Abby said. She was having trouble making her thoughts line up.

"Okay. Look at me," the officer said. What had he said his name was? Mike. She looked at him, and he sized her up.

"Have you taken any drugs, Abby?" he asked. She nodded.

"I took what the doctor gave me."

"Did Tony take any?"

She shook her head. "Why would he?"

One of the men in the living room came out for the gurney. The rest of them made a path for it and Abby had a clear view of Tony. Two medics were working on him, one blowing air down a tube in his throat, the other starting an IV.

"Oh God! Tony!" she cried again and tried to get up and go to him. Mike held her in place with hands on her knees.

"It's alright, Abby. He has a good pulse, but his breathing was too slow, so the medics are helping him breathe. That's all." She looked rapidly back and forth between the officer and the medics, trying to force the thought that was just out of reach. Drugged. On purpose. Breathing too slow. Good pulse. Then the answer appeared.

"GHB."

"What?" Mike asked.

"It might be GHB. The date-rape drug."

"You guys hear that?" Mike called over his shoulder.

"Got it," someone said. "Let's load him up."

"Where would he get GHB, Abby?" Mike asked.

"I don't know," Abby shook her head. "It's just, we've been… The rapist uses… The symptoms… I don't know." She was clearly frustrated, and more than a little frightened.

"Okay. It's alright," Mike said. "They're going to take good care of him."

"Where will they take him?" she asked.

"Where are you taking him?" Mike called to the medics.

"Alexandria Hospital is closest," the man called back.

"Is that alright? If they take him to Alexandria?" Mike asked.

"Bethesda is better," Abby said. "Can he go there?"

"Make it Bethesda, guys," Mike said, and the medics agreed.

Abby watched while the men put Tony on the gurney. One of them continued to push air down Tony's throat as two others moved him down the hall and out of the house. Abby again tried to get up and follow, and was again held back.

"You need to stay here, Abby," Mike told her. She looked at the door they'd gone through for a moment, trying to understand what she was seeing. The front door was hanging at an angle. It was broken. Someone had broken in. That's what she'd heard. She turned back to Mike.

"What happened?" she asked.

"We're not really sure. We got a call that you and two men had been drugged and needed help. That there might be another man here trying to hurt you."

"Vic," Abby said.

"Vic was here?" Mike said.

"Vic is trying to hurt me. And Gibbs. He wasn't here. Tony was here. Tony's not trying to hurt me." She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Abby," he said with a smile. Another medic appeared at Mike's elbow.

"How is she?" he asked, and crouched down next to the officer.

"This is Abby. She's a little confused. She says she took something the doctor gave her," Mike supplied.

"What did you take, Abby?" the medic asked.

"I don't know. The doctor gave it to me. For surgery and a broken rib. Vic beat me up."

"Where's the bottle?" he asked.

"In the kitchen maybe? Tony had it."

"Did Tony take any?" he asked.

"No. Why do you keep asking me that?" she asked with a frown.

"It was me that asked you that before, Abby," Mike said gently. He patted her knee. "It's alright. I know you're confused. This is Jed, he's going to ask you some of the same questions I did. He needs to be sure you're alright."

"Abby!" That was a voice she knew. She looked up to see McGee come through the door toward her.

"McGee! Tony's not breathing!" she exclaimed.

"I know. He's on his way to Bethesda." He hugged her gently. "Gibbs is there, too. Are you alright?" The medic stood and McGee took his place in front of Abby's chair.

"I'm okay. Gibbs is already at the hospital?" Abby said. "How did he know?"

"Know what?" McGee asked.

"How did he know to go to the hospital? Tony just left here. You just got here."

"No, Abby. Gibbs was drugged, too. He's already at the hospital. The doctors are working on him."

"What?" Abby said. She frowned and shook her head slowly. "I don't understand."

McGee took her hand. "Abby, Gibbs was here. After he left, he had an accident in the sedan. Not serious," he added quickly when he saw her about to interrupt. "Gibbs called Director Shepard after the accident and told her you'd all been drugged and DeLaCruz might be making a move against you. He was pretty out of it. She sent the local officers here, then sent me. She's on her way to the hospital."

"And we were told that both Mr. Gibbs…" Mike started. Abby interrupted.

"Special Agent Gibbs," she said.

"I'm sorry," Mike apologized with a smile. "We were told that both Special Agent Gibbs and Tony were here, that they'd been drugged, and that there might be someone trying to hurt you. You didn't answer when we knocked, so the fire guys took down your door. We made sure no one was here to hurt you, then the medics started taking care of Tony. He was passed out at the kitchen table."

"How?" Abby asked.

"How what?" Mike asked.

"How were they drugged?"

"We don't know yet," McGee said. The medic returned with a prescription bottle in his hand.

"Is this what you took, Abby?" he asked.

"Let me see the pills," she said. He opened the bottle and showed her. She nodded.

"How many did you take?" he asked.

"Two," Abby said. The medic examined the bottle and nodded to himself.

"Okay. That's why you're a little confused. Two is the maximum dose, and for a girl your size, it's probably a little too much. But it's nothing to worry about. I'm going to check you out anyway, just to be safe. Alright?"

"You don't need to. I'm okay," Abby said.

"Let him check, Abby," McGee said.

She sighed. "Fine."

"I'll be right back," McGee said. "You'll stay with her?" he asked the officer.

"It'll be my pleasure," Mike said. McGee squeezed her hand and stepped into the kitchen.

While the medic checked Abby's vital signs, McGee talked to the Alexandria Police officers who'd responded. He explained what he knew of the situation, told them an NCIS team was on the way, and asked them to help him secure the scene in the meantime. They readily agreed. The lead officer handed him Tony's holstered weapon and his ID folder, both of which the medics had removed prior to putting him on the gurney. McGee put both into his coat pockets. He poked around the kitchen, noted the empty pizza box, the two glasses with traces of dark liquid in them, and figured the source of the drug had to be one or the other. There was a significant amount of vomit on the kitchen table, spilling to the floor. McGee frowned and swallowed hard. He hated that he had such a weak stomach when it came to things like that, but it couldn't be helped. He turned away from the mess, thinking. If they had been drugged with GHB, it couldn't be absorbed through the skin, but he'd have to sample all the surfaces, in case it was something else. The hospital would be able to tell them shortly what Gibbs and Tony were drugged with, which would help them figure out where it came from.

If it was GHB, it would lend credence to Gibbs' theory that DeLaCruz was their rapist. But it would also raise a new question: How did DeLaCruz get it in here? Chances were that it wasn't in the pizza. The receipt on the box indicated it had been bought less than an hour ago, which meant Gibbs had probably brought it with him. And unless the guy was following Gibbs, sneaked into the pizza place and doped it before it got into Gibbs hands, it was probably already in the house when he got there. So if it was the juice, how'd he get it in there? DiNozzo had brought Abby home early this afternoon. Before then, the house was empty for most of two days. Assuming Tony would have noticed signs of forced entry when he brought Abby home, the guy must have a key. But Gibbs said the locks were new within the last two weeks. So how'd he get in here?

"McGee? What happened?" It was Ziva, finally arriving after her detour to her own house.

McGee greeted her, then gave her a quick rundown on what was happening.

"So what do we do about Abby?" she asked when he was finished. "She cannot stay here."

"I'll take her to my place for the night," McGee said.

"Does Gibbs not want you working on the computer searches?" Ziva asked.

"I can do that from home."

"You cannot concentrate on that and still keep an eye on Abby. I'll come with you."

"That could work," McGee said. "Why don't you take her there now. I've got to finish up here."

"You have help coming?" she asked.

"Russell's team is responding."

"Alright. I will take her as soon as the medics are finished with her." McGee pulled his house key off his ring and handed it to her, then gave her the code for his security system.

"Take good care of her, Ziva. Be sure you're not followed. He might be watching us now. This guy has upped the ante in a big way, and I don't want to give him another shot at her."

Ziva pocketed the key and held McGee's eye for a moment.

"You sound like Gibbs," she said before turning away and heading down the hall.

* * *

It took Jenny almost 45 minutes to make it from the Navy Yard to Bethesda in mid-afternoon traffic. By the time she arrived, both Gibbs and DiNozzo had been stabilized. The nurse at the triage desk told her to stand by for just a moment, she'd get the doctor. It was hardly more than two minutes before an almost-forgotten voice called her name.

"Jenny?" She turned to see a tall, blond, bespeckled Navy Captain striding toward her from the emergency room.

"Todd!" she said and hurried over to him. "I'm glad to see you." She had spent considerable time with Captain Todd Gelfand, the former head of neurology at Portsmouth Naval Hospital, after Gibbs was nearly killed in the explosion in Norfolk Harbor. They'd actually gone on several dates before mutually deciding to just be friends. "I didn't know you were working here."

"About three months now." They hugged briefly and Todd kissed her on the cheek before ushering her into emergency.

"How are they?" she asked. They moved down the hall toward the trauma rooms.

"They're both stable, but in some level of coma. Agent DiNozzo's heart rate is strong and steady and his blood pressure is good. He is breathing, but not enough to sustain him, so we've got him on a ventilator to support his own respirations until the drug clears his system. He shows some response to painful stimuli, but not to voice or other touch." Todd paused.

"The toxicology screen came back about 10 minutes ago and confirmed what the medics who brought him in told us: It was GHB, and he ingested a significant dose. While there is no antidote for that particular drug, the good news is that it clears the system fairly quickly, and recovery is normally complete with proper medical intervention. He should come out of the coma within an hour or two, and full recovery shouldn't take more than eight hours. He'll have some event-specific memory loss, probably won't remember most of the day.

"What we're seeing is exactly what we'd expect from a case of GHB overdose. His symptoms are following a predictable pattern, and I expect his recovery to do the same." They stopped outside trauma.

"You know he was infected with Y-Pestis two years ago?"

"Yes, that's in his records. GHB doesn't actually cause respiratory damage, and it's not known to exacerbate pre-existing respiratory conditions. It just temporarily stops the respiratory drive. His history won't impact his recovery from this."

"That's good to hear. What about Agent Gibbs?" she asked. Todd shook his head.

"He's not doing as well. He appears to have taken in a larger quantity of the drug. The medics on scene with Agent DiNozzo reported that he threw up a significant amount of food, and for that reason he probably didn't metabolize all the drug he consumed. It doesn't appear that Agent Gibbs threw up any of it. That, added to the fact that he's older and has had some cardiac damage in the past, has made the effect more profound.

"He had a seizure and his heart went into v-fib before the medics arrived. They tried multiple times to shock him back into rhythm on the way here, and we made several attempts after he arrived, continuing CPR throughout. We haven't been able to get his heart to restart. So we've got him on cardiac life support for the moment. An external pacemaker is delivering a low-grade shock to his heart 60 times a minute, mimicking the heart's own electrical system and forcing it to pump. He's maintaining adequate blood pressure, which is a very good sign. It means he's not likely to go into shock. His coma is deeper than Agent DiNozzo's, and he's unresponsive to all stimuli. But I don't think that's anything to worry about, given the trauma his body is going through."

"You said he had a seizure and his heart stopped. Will that cause brain damage?" Jenny asked. She held her breath.

"His heart didn't actually stop. It went into ventricular fibrillation, meaning rapid, uncoordinated contractions of the heart muscle. The heart continues to be flushed with blood, but there's no circulation. If it continues for more than a few seconds, it leads to heart failure. The bystander who witnessed the accident kept him from choking during the seizure, checked for a pulse as soon as it ended, then applied immediate and excellent CPR. Neither his heart nor his brain were deprived of oxygen for any significant time, as far as we can tell. There shouldn't be any permanent effect. He will have the same memory loss as Agent DiNozzo, probably covering a longer period of time." Seeing her expression, and remembering the bout of amnesia Gibbs had suffered the last time he'd been seriously injured – when for several days he'd lost 15 years of his own history – he hurried to reassure her.

"The memory loss will only be relevant to the hours before he was drugged. It won't be like last time." Jenny smiled gratefully. Todd continued. "We gave him a down and dirty CAT scan in the ER, and it didn't show any new cardiac damage. We'll repeat it once his condition improves to confirm that."

"What kind of prior heart damage did he have?" she asked.

"His heart has sustained some previous trauma, associated with the explosions he survived and time spent on life support then. Nothing serious, but enough that his heart shows some scarring. However, he is in excellent shape for a man of his age – or a man 10 years younger for that matter – and that is reflected in the strength of his heart muscle. I have very high hopes that once the drug clears his system, he'll make a full recovery. It just might take a little longer."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course." He pushed open the door.

DiNozzo was laid out on a gurney in the room directly in front of her. She moved in to stand at the foot of the bed. He didn't look bad, if you ignored the ventilator blowing his chest up and down. A monitor above his head showed a steady march of heart beats, even and strong. He looked like he was just sleeping. There was a slight smile on his face and Jenny thought it must be his resting expression. She watched him for a moment, then turned away. Todd indicated the next room and they stepped out.

There was a curtain across the entrance to Gibbs' room, and when Todd pulled it aside, Jenny's breath caught in her throat. She had an immediate and rather disorienting flashback to the trauma room at Portsmouth, where Gibbs had been brought after the explosion in Norfolk Harbor. His skin was the same bloodless pale color, he had the same half-dead look on his face, the same awful-looking plastic tube coming out of his mouth, the same machine literally forcing the life into him. She felt Todd squeeze her elbow and she blinked.

"It's different this time," he said softly. "We know what's wrong, and we know how to fix it."

Jenny nodded.

"This is Dr. Lynn Bailey. She's going to be taking care of Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo while they're in trauma." Todd introduced Jenny to a young black woman who was writing something in a medical chart. "Director Jenny Shepard from NCIS."

"Hello, good to meet you," she said, and shook Jenny's hand. Her grip was firm but not overwhelming. She wore a khaki-colored Navy officer's uniform under a traditional white lab coat. Her short dark hair was done up in hundreds of tiny braids, each capped by a single black bead. The beads were so small they hardly showed, but they made a soft clattering sound when she moved. She looked young. Too young to be taking care of her people.

"You're not his doctor?" Jenny turned back to Todd.

"I'll be overseeing his care. But I've been promoted: Chief of Emergency Medicine. It's why I moved from Portsmouth. It's more a paperwork job than anything. I don't get to do direct patient care much anymore. But Agent Gibbs is special. I'll be keeping my eye on him." He smiled. "Besides, Dr. Bailey here is a hotshot. First in her class at Harvard Medical. Turned down a lucrative offer from GW to join the Navy after 9/11. She's the best we've got. And she's not as young as she looks." Dr. Bailey smiled modestly at the praise.

Jenny moved to the bedside and looked down at Gibbs. He was uncovered to the waist, and Jenny's eyes locked on his bare chest. The area over his sternum was red and irritated, stark against the paleness of the rest of him. He must have hit the steering wheel, she thought. His chest had been shaved smooth, making the scars there stand out. Most of them she was familiar with, some were new. A large white pad with two wires leading out from under it covered most of the upper left portion of his torso. Every second, there was a soft popping sound and his shoulder muscles on that side jumped slightly.

"Doesn't that hurt?" she asked.

"If he was conscious, it would feel like he was sticking his finger in a light socket 60 times a minute," Dr. Bailey said. "Since he's not, it's unlikely that he's feeling anything. When he does wake up, it's going to feel like he's pulled every muscle in his shoulder. But we can prescribe pain meds for that, and it's better than the alternative."

"It's unlikely that he feels it?" Jenny asked. Todd answered.

"As you are aware, we don't really know what the body can sense or feel when it's in this state. We know the nerve impulses that go to his muscles aren't functioning at this time, so the chance that any messages of pain are getting back to his brain is slim. Even if they are, I've never had a patient wake up from a coma complaining of being in pain while they were gone. Most patients remember nothing. Those that do describe thoughts and emotions, not physical feelings."

Jenny nodded again. "How long before the drug clears his system?"

"Could be two hours, could be six, or longer," Dr. Bailey said. "It depends on his normal resting rate of metabolism, what he had to eat and drink today, his overall health… he was given a very large dose of the drug. It's lucky he crashed his car while he was still conscious and was able to tell someone what happened. And he was very lucky the man who witnessed the accident knew CPR and did it well. He's got a lot going for him: It's just a waiting game now."

"How will you know he's ready to come out of it?" Jenny asked.

"If his heart begins to beat on its own, the pacemaker will alarm. If he begins spontaneous respirations, the ventilator will automatically do less work. It's actually waiting for him to take each breath before it breathes for him," Dr. Bailey said.

"And if neither happens soon?"

"We'll test his blood every hour until the drug can no longer be detected, then try again to restart his heart manually."

Jenny nodded and fell silent, watching Gibbs' chest rise and fall, and that frightening twitch of his shoulder.

"We'll need some of the earliest blood samples you took from each of them, to test the formulation of the GHB against that being used by our suspect," Jenny said.

"Of course," Dr. Bailey said. Jenny nodded.

"I have some calls to make. Please keep me informed of their conditions," she said. She took out two of her cards, wrote her cell on the back of each and handed one to each doctor.

"I'll see you out," Todd said. Jenny laid her hand on Gibbs' arm. She could feel the echoes of the shock being administered to his heart as the electricity ran down his limbs. It was disquieting, to say the least. She squeezed lightly, then turned and followed Todd out.

"You mentioned testing the formulation of the drug," Todd said as they moved away from the room. "Is this related to the death of Seaman Pharris?"

"Gibbs thinks so," Jenny said.

"Why would a date-rape suspect go after your agents?" Todd asked. Jenny considered how much she should say.

"There's a connection between that case and another they're working. The suspect in Seaman Pharris' death may have been dating a domestic assault victim who came to us for help. NCIS is providing protection for that victim, hoping to catch the suspect. They were at the victim's house when they got drugged. It's not yet clear whether he was actually after them, or if he was intending to further assault the victim and they got it first."

"Wow. I'm sorry to hear that. Is the victim they were protecting alright?"

"She's fine." Jenny smiled. "Is there somewhere I can go to make some calls, do a little paperwork?" she asked.

"Sure. There's a report-writing alcove you can use." He indicated a space across the hall from and just beyond Gibbs' room. A counter against the wall, two desk lamps, two office chairs, two phones. "It's not much," Todd apologized.

"It's perfect. Thank-you."

"You're welcome. I'll be sure Dr. Bailey lets you know if anything changes." He took his leave.

* * *

To Be Continued... Feedback and reviews welcome. Please Feed the Author!


	14. Chapter 14

**Lying Eyes Part 14**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Jenny checked in with McGee, exchanging updates. Abby was settled at his house with Ziva, he'd be joining them there as soon as he finished securing Abby's apartment and ran by the Navy Yard to grab his work. The evidence was on its way to the lab, where Lt. Hanson was waiting. She would sample the food and drinks to confirm the source of the drug. The second team from NCIS had gathered everything edible in the house, including toothpaste and mouthwash, in case the suspect had drugged something else. On interviewing the manager of Abby's apartment complex, they discovered a handsome man claiming to be Abby's fiancé had conned the manager into opening Abby's door, claiming she needed things at the hospital and had misplaced her keys in the confusion.

Next, Jenny called Ducky. When she'd first called the medical examiner to say Gibbs and DiNozzo were in trouble, he'd been in the middle of an autopsy with a two more bodies waiting. She told him what Dr. Gelfand had said, described their conditions, and promised to call him back the minute she knew anything more.

At Jenny's request, Cynthia brought Jenny's briefcase and a stack of paperwork for her to do. In exchange, Jenny gave her the vials of blood from Gibbs and DiNozzo to take back to the lab for testing.

The Virginia State Trooper who'd written up the accident came by, delivering Gibbs' keys, weapon, identification and cell phone. He agreed to copy his report to NCIS, and told Jenny where they'd towed the sedan.

She'd been at the hospital almost two hours and was reading the final activity report in her stack when Jenny heard a commotion from down the hall. She looked up in time to see a nurse hurrying into Tony's room. Jenny quickly folded up her paperwork and went to see.

On the bed, Tony was struggling against several nurses and Dr. Bailey, who were trying to hold him still. He was fighting hard and they were losing. It looked like he was trying to get his hands to the tube in his mouth. He was clearly in a panic and Jenny knew she had to do something.

"DiNozzo!" she shouted. Tony froze when he saw her, then started struggling again. Todd Gelfand came in behind Jenny and sized up the situation.

"Go," he said to Jenny, who moved immediately to the bedside. Tony's eyes were wild, his mouth moving around the tube, his hands trying desperately to reach it. Jenny leaned over him and took one of his hands. She put her other hand on his forehead, pushing down slightly and forcing him to look at her.

"Tony, it's alright. You're at Bethesda. You've got a breathing tube in your throat. The doctors will take it out, but you have to be still. Do you understand me?" Tony stopped fighting and nodded, though there was still a panicked look in his eyes.

"It's alright, Agent DiNozzo," Dr. Bailey told him. "Try and relax. I know it feels like you can't breathe, but you can. Just take some deep breaths through the tube." Tony nodded again and took a breath. The ventilator whistled.

"That's good. Another one," she said. Tony's eyes jumped back and forth between the hospital staff and Jenny as he took another breath.

"Excellent. We're going to get that tube out now. Just hang on." The nurses backed away, cautiously letting go of Tony's limbs. Jenny kept her free hand on his forehead, running her thumb up and down his hairline. He was calming, but slowly. By the door, Todd kept watch. One of the nurses recycled the blood pressure cuff on Tony's arm while Dr. Bailey prepared to pull the tube. Tony took measured, even breaths. It was clear he was concentrating on it.

"Okay, Agent DiNozzo. Here we go," Dr. Bailey said from the top of the bed above Tony's head. His eyes rolled up to try and see her. A nurse came up behind Jenny and she moved back out of the way, keeping hold of one of Tony's hands. The nurse undid the collar that kept the tube in place and did something with a big syringe.

"When I count to three, I want you to cough as hard as you can, and keep coughing until I tell you to stop," Dr. Bailey said. "Do you understand?" Tony nodded several times. She took hold of the end of the tube in her fist and counted.

"One, two, Three!" Tony's face reddened as he started to cough. No sound came until the tube was free, then rasping, choking sounds. As his shoulders came up off the bed, Jenny helped him to sit upright.

"Okay, good. That's good. Now breathe normally." The doctor set the tube aside and took out a stethoscope, listening to his lungs front and back. "Very good. Try to slow down your breathing."

"Aaahhee," Tony said. His voice was painful to hear. He caught Jenny's eye.

"Don't try to talk yet," the doctor said. "Your throat will be really dry. Give it a few minutes. I'll get you some water."

Tony shook his head. He tried again. "Aaaaabby." Jenny frowned and then got it.

"Abby's safe. McGee and Ziva are with her. She's safe, Tony." Tony nodded a couple times and relaxed. The nurse raised the head of the bed to a reclining position and Jenny supported him as he lay back and let his eyes close. Over the next several minutes, his breathing slowly settled into a regular rhythm. The nurse brought some water in a plastic cup and Jenny helped him drink it. When he had taken it all, he licked his lips and spoke again.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was still rough, but coherent.

"What do you remember?" Dr. Bailey asked.

"I was at Abby's. Gibbs called. Said DeLaCruz called Abby's cell. Said he was sending Ziva. I was hungry." Tony stopped. He frowned. "Did I eat?"

"Pizza," Jenny supplied. Tony looked over at her, seemingly surprised to see her there. "Gibbs brought it over. Do you remember that?"

Tony considered, then shook his head. "What happened?" he said again.

"You were drugged," the doctor said. "With GHB."

"How?" he asked.

"McGee thinks it was in the juice you drank out of Abby's fridge," Jenny said.

"Is Abby okay?" Tony asked.

"She's fine. Scared for you two, but she didn't drink any of it."

"I don't remember drinking juice," Tony said.

"It's perfectly normal," Dr. Bailey said. "GHB causes retrograde amnesia. How do you feel?"

"Tired," he said. His eyes closed again.

"That's normal," she said. "Your vitals look good, but you're probably still under the influence of the drug. So we're just going to let you rest for a bit."

"Okay." He took a breath, then his eyes popped open again and found Jenny's. "Is Abby okay?"

"Yes, Tony. She's fine," Jenny said for the third time. "McGee and Ziva are with her."

"Okay." He closed his eyes and seemed to relax. Jenny watched him for a minute.

"How is he?" Jenny asked Dr. Bailey.

"Everything looks good. His vitals are all normal, you can see he's breathing just fine. His cognitive ability seems intact."

"Why is he asking the same questions over and over?" she asked.

"GHB plays with the short-term memory," the doctor answered. "Not only doesn't he remember the answers you gave, he forgets that he already asked the question. He'll probably ask the same questions another hundred times over the next couple hours until the drug completely clears his system. It's normal."

Tony opened his eyes and looked around. He saw Jenny and a look of confusion settled in.

"Director? What happened?" Jenny exchanged a look with Dr. Bailey.

"You were drugged, but you're going to be okay," she said.

"Drugged? How?" Tony frowned. "Is Abby okay?"

"Abby's fine, Agent DiNozzo," Todd Gelfand spoke up. "I need to talk to Director Shepard for a minute. I'll bring her back in a little while."

"Okay," Tony said agreeably.

Jenny followed Todd into the hall. He smiled at her.

"If you let him, he'll keep that up for hours," Todd said. "I expect you have better things to do."

"Will he notice I'm gone?" Jenny asked.

"In five minutes, he won't even remember you were here. The nurses will keep telling him why he's here, and that Abby's okay. We'll keep testing his short-term memory and when he starts hanging on to information, I'll have them call you back in so you can tell him the whole story one more time."

"Thank-you," Jenny said and squeezed his hand. On her way back to the report room, she stopped to check on Gibbs. There was no change, the nurse reported. Jenny stood for a minute in the doorway watching his chest rise and fall and his shoulder jump under the pacemaker. It was frightening, but she tried to use Tony's sudden awakening as reason for hope. After another minute, she thanked the nurse and returned to the report room. She called McGee and Ducky with updates, then settled back into her paperwork.

* * *

When the ringing phone interrupted her review of the proposed agency budget more than an hour later, Jenny wasn't sure where it was coming from. It was a cell phone, but not hers. She looked around the room at the second ring and focused on her briefcase. It was Gibbs' cell, in her briefcase with the rest of the things the Trooper had brought her. She snatched it up on the third ring and looked at the caller ID. Hollis. Damn.

"Hello, Lt. Col. Mann," she said.

"Director Shepard?" Hollis asked curiously. "Yesterday it was DiNozzo at this number. NCIS making you guys share phones now?"

"I am so sorry. I should have called you earlier, but Jethro's had no one but us in so long, I honestly forgot he has you now. I am truly sorry," Jenny said.

"What's wrong?" Hollis asked.

Jenny quickly explained what had happened and why. "He's at Bethesda. If you come down, I'll be sure you get in to see him immediately."

"I'll be there shortly," she said and hung up. Jenny sighed. No matter how you looked at it, that was bad. She should have thought of calling Lt. Col. Mann hours ago. But like she'd said, Jethro had been alone for so long…

For some time now, Jenny had quietly been trying to find out how serious Jethro and Hollis Mann were getting. He'd been divorced from his last wife for almost six years, and in that time, he'd never gotten serious with any woman, as far as she knew. Jenny and Jethro had been lovers during that time period, yes, but even while it was happening they both knew it wasn't long-term. They were working undercover in Bosnia, the only friendlies in a sea of enemies. It was almost inevitable. But it had never been what either would consider the beginning of a long-term serious relationship.

The NCIS grapevine was famous, and the agency was very tight-knit. Anyone who kept their private lives as private as Jethro did was always hot fodder. Even while she was overseas, when people found out she used to know Gibbs, they wanted to know what she knew, and to tell her everything they knew. Once she returned to Washington, agents, techs and staffers alike took great delight in telling her every rumor of who Jethro might have been seen with, and which women he might have spent the night with. Sometimes she felt more like a high-school principal than the director of an armed federal agency.

Even so, there'd been very little on the rumor mill about Hollis Mann. Gibbs had met her in November the previous year when terrorist Mamoun Sharif set off a bomb that killed a Marine colonel at the Army Navy Club golf course. She had joined them for several investigations in the interim. Jenny wasn't sure when they'd started dating, but she thought it was right around the time Sharif returned. That time, he'd stolen 22 pounds of nerve gas and coated nearly 10,000 one-dollar bills with it, attempting a mass release. They'd caught him in time, but it had nearly cost Jethro his life. Only Lt. Col. Mann's timely arrival stopped Sharif from putting a bullet in Jethro's head.

It was hard to tell exactly when they'd started getting serious because Gibbs didn't talk about her, didn't bring her around. He was occasionally overheard talking to her on his cell, but the conversations were always short and never anything more than friendly. DiNozzo had seen them together once off duty, drinking coffee at DC Beans, and there was an undercurrent of sexual tension between them when they worked together that was obvious to anyone. But that was it. The grapevine was silent as to what they'd been up to. It was driving Jenny crazy.

Not that she cared who Jethro was dating, really. Or if he was dating anyone at all. They'd had a thing once, but that was a long time ago, and she had no claim to him anymore. He was a friend and colleague, nothing more. But that didn't mean she didn't worry about him. Didn't want to be sure he didn't get hurt. It certainly didn't mean she didn't desperately want to know how serious he was getting with Lieutenant Colonel Hollis Mann.

"Director Shepard?" Jenny looked up, startled. She'd let herself drift. The young doctor – Bailey – was standing in the doorway of the alcove. She was smiling.

"I thought you'd want to know: Agent Gibbs' heart has begun beating on its own."

"That's good news," she said. "Is he breathing?"

"Not yet," Dr. Bailey said. "There's still a measureable quantity of GHB in his blood. His heart restarting is a very good sign that the effect has begun to wear off, but we wouldn't expect his respiratory drive to resume until the drug is more fully clear his system."

"Thank-you," Jenny said.

"Also, Agent DiNozzo is ready to talk now. He doesn't remember you were there, and he's getting a little antsy about Abby. He remembers we've told him she's okay, but he wants to hear it from one of his people."

"I'm not surprised." She gathered up her papers and followed the doctor into Tony's room.

He was sitting up in the bed. A thin oxygen tube ran under his nose, and wires for a heart monitor snaked under the gown he was wearing. Otherwise, he looked none the worse for wear.

"Director? What the hell happened?" he asked when he saw her. Jenny glanced back at the doctor.

"What's my name, Tony?" she asked.

"Lynn Bailey. And the number's 42. I remember you telling me, I just want to hear it from her." He seemed a little annoyed, and Jenny suppressed a smile.

"You and were drugged with GHB this afternoon at Abby's. She's fine. I talked to Ziva 30 minutes ago. They're staying at McGee's house. Abby's upset that Ziva won't let her come to see you, and she's really worried, but she's fine."

"Is Gibbs alright?"

"He's in the next room. He's improving, but still unconscious."

"How did he get us?"

"Lt. Hanson confirmed there was GHB in the juice."

"The juice in Abby's fridge?" Tony asked. Jenny nodded. "I didn't drink any of it."

"Yes you did. After Gibbs got there with the pizza. You both did."

Tony shook his head. "I don't remember him coming."

"It's normal, Tony," Dr. Bailey said. "You probably won't ever remember."

"McGee said he went over to get Abby's cell," Jenny continued. "He bought pizza on the way. You both ate it, and drank several glasses of mixed Cranberry-Grape juice. The juice was spiked, probably intended for Abby."

"But she didn't drink any," Tony confirmed.

"No. Lt. Hanson's working on isolating the formulation, to confirm it's the same as the rapist was using."

"Why would it be the same…" Tony stopped. "Are you saying the rapist is DeLaCruz?"

"That's Gibbs' theory," Jenny said.

"Why didn't he tell me that?" Tony demanded.

"He probably did. He told me, Ziva and McGee before he went to Abby's. No reason he wouldn't have told you when he got there," Jenny reassured him.

"Wow. Does Abby know?"

"Not yet. Gibbs was having trouble figuring out how he was going to broach the subject with her."

"And what's his condition now?" Tony asked. Dr. Bailey answered.

"He was more seriously affected than you were, Tony. He was on an external cardiac pacemaker for several hours, but his heart finally returned to normal function about fifteen minutes ago."

"How long was he on life support?" Tony asked.

"It's been about four hours," Dr. Bailey said. "He's still on the ventilator."

"I have to get out of here," Tony announced and pulled at the oxygen tubing.

"Tony, no," Jenny said, echoed by the doctor.

"Yes. Gibbs is out of commission, which means I'm in charge, and I have work to do. I'm feeling fine, so I'm getting out of here."

"Actually, Agent DiNozzo, I thought I was in charge," Jenny said. Tony rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean. I've got an investigation to run. And if the rapist and Abby's attacker really are the same person, I need to talk to Abby, find out what more she knows."

"McGee's with her. When she's up to it, he'll talk to her. You need to stay here."

"Why?" Tony asked. He reached for the blood pressure cuff around his arm and tore it off.

"Agent DiNozzo," the doctor began. "You've just come out of a coma. You need to stay under observation for at least six hours, to be sure you don't have any lingering effects."

A hard look passed over Tony's face. "I'm breathing, I'm sitting up. My name is Anthony DiNozzo, yours is Lynn Bailey, the number is 42. I'm leaving, so get me the forms I need to sign and we can stop wasting time."

"Fine," the doctor said. "Go ahead and go." Jenny looked sharply at her. She held up a hand, telling Jenny to wait.

Tony reached under the gown he was wearing and pulled the heart monitor wires off his chest. He slid to the edge of the bed. Swinging his legs over the side, he boosted himself off the bed and promptly hit the floor as his legs collapsed. He sat there for a second, breathing hard. Dr. Bailey came to stand over him.

"Would you like a hand, Agent DiNozzo?" the doctor asked pleasantly.

"Please," Tony said. With a nurse on one side and Dr. Bailey on the other, Tony was helped to his feet and back into the bed.

"Maybe I'll just stay here for a little while longer," Tony said. The nurse snapped the heart monitor wires back to the electrodes on his chest, then pulled the sheet up over him and put the oxygen back around his ears and under his nose.

"I think that would be an excellent idea, Agent DiNozzo," Jenny said with a smile. Tony was still breathing hard.

"The GHB affects muscle tone, and being in a coma – even a short one – affects your stamina. You need to stay here for observation for another six hours, then, if I determine the effects have fully worn off, you can go," Dr. Bailey said.

"Fine," Tony said between breaths.

"Thank-you, Doctor," Jenny said. "And don't worry, Tony. McGee is working the only leads we've got on the case. He'll let us know if something breaks."

* * *

After Hollis Mann hung up, she immediately turned her car back toward DC. She had been headed home after working into the evening tying up loose ends on old case files. Her retirement papers were in, and she was counting the days until the end of her tour of duty. The 20 years she'd spent in the Army serving her country had been an honor and a privilege, but she was looking forward to settling down, spending time concentrating on other things. Like Leroy Jethro Gibbs, for instance.

Hollis wasn't sure she'd ever felt love quite like this before. She'd been married twice, and thought she knew what love felt like. But this was different. When she was with him, nothing else seemed important. When she was away from him, her thoughts drifted frequently to the next time they could be together. She hadn't been this gone over someone since her first high school crushes. Jethro was funny, smart, had better investigative instincts than anyone she'd ever met, and possessed a strength of character that amazed her. He treated her with respect and chivalry, but never made her feel like she was something less than he just because she was female. He was good with his hands, good with animals, and great with kids. He was a fabulous kisser. Not to mention handsome as hell.

Which is why her heart stuttered a little when Jenny Shepard said he was in a coma, that he wasn't breathing, that his heart wasn't beating. She couldn't lose him, not when she'd just barely found him. She kicked up the pace.

As Hollis pushed through the evening traffic toward Bethesda, she considered what Jenny had said: that the call hadn't come earlier because Jethro hadn't had anyone in so long Jenny had forgotten he had Hollis now. Hollis knew Jethro had been alone for a long time. Even if he hadn't told her, she would have known. The way he was the center of his own life, the way he forcibly isolated himself from others; these things told her he'd been hurt by letting people get too close in the past. And that he'd made a conscious decision not to let it happen again. It had taken quite a bit of work on her part to convince him to let her inside in the first place, and she'd thought for a moment last night that she'd ruined everything.

She'd never seen him so fragile emotionally as he'd been in the minutes after he fled the kitchen. And there was no other way to describe it. She'd referred to Abby as his daughter and immediately seen in his face that she'd crossed the line. He wasn't prepared for her to be that far inside his head, and it had spooked him. Not that he would ever admit it. He'd looked like he either wanted to punch something, or cry. Or maybe both.

The relief she'd felt when he let her touch him was profound. She'd been afraid, when he stormed out of the house, that his next move would be to throw her out. It would have been his reaction when they first met. But something had changed over the past few months.

It had started, like so many things did with Jethro, in his basement. She'd just filed her papers, and was a few days away from heading to Fort Bragg to help choose her replacement at the Army Criminal Investigation Division. Her approaching 20-year anniversary had her thinking about making long-term plans, and she wanted to know once and for all if Jethro was in it for the long haul. They'd been dating off and on for six months, steadily the last two, but had intentionally avoided talking about the future. He had three failed marriages behind him and she knew he was scared. She didn't want to pressure him. Still, it was important to her to know where he stood, whether he was able to put it into words or not.

She hadn't gotten far with him that night. He'd blamed it on his lack of focus, the case he was involved in. He'd kept picking up tools, trying to escape having to say anything. She'd seen the signs: he was nervous, afraid of commitment, unsure if what he felt was real. So she'd let him off the hook. A few days later, he'd come over to repair a leak in her bedroom and had told her she needed to replace all the old pipes in her house. At the time, she hadn't made the connection between their talk in the basement and his announcement. It wasn't until the afternoon she returned from Fort Bragg to find that he'd stayed up all night to finish the work in the bedroom that she understood. But not before she accused him of working fast to get it done so he could escape, of not wanting her, of abandoning her just when things were getting good. What stupid thing had she said? 'There are three billion men in the world. They don't all have to want me, but you should want me. The fact that you don't makes me wonder why I ever wanted you in the first place.' Even now, after all that had happened since, she cringed at the memory of those hurtful words. Then he'd shown her the bathroom, where he'd found another leak. The stack of pipes he'd bought clearly showed his intention to stay with her and she'd been mortified at the accusations so easily flung. In his own way, Jethro had been trying to tell her he did want to stay with her, and she'd missed it.

Things had happened fast after that. They'd slept together the first time only a few days later. Then she was able to add another thing to her list of his attributes: He was a great lover. Considerate, caring, gentle and aggressive in equal and proper measure. Yes, she'd thought after that first time, she could definitely share the rest of her life with this man.

Hollis had been surprised and a little disappointed to find herself alone in Jethro's bed this morning when her internal alarm went off at 0530. She went looking for him and found him still in the basement. He was sitting on a stool, head pillowed on his crossed arms atop the wheelhouse he was working on, tools spread out around him, sound asleep. She'd watched him for a few minutes, expecting him to feel her watching and wake at any moment. When he didn't, she decided to let him sleep. He'd been so tired lately. So she showered in his en-suite bathroom, leaving the door slightly open in case he woke up and decided to join her. Then she'd dressed in the fatigues she'd brought with her. She wondered if she should keep waiting for Jethro to invite her to bring over some clothes, or just do it. Knowing him the way she did, the latter seemed like her best choice. He would probably never speak the offer out loud. In fact, he might be wondering why she hadn't already done it. God, she wished sometimes he would just say what he was thinking.

He was still asleep when she was ready to leave 45 minutes later. He usually liked to be in the office between 0700 and 0730. It took him half an hour to get ready and 20 minutes to get in, if the traffic was good. He was already going to be late. The fact that he hadn't woken to his own internal alarm told her he really needed the sleep. So, she made sure there was a full pot of coffee, wrote him a note and left. She knew he'd be upset, but in this area, she didn't care. She liked taking care of him, and after the events of the previous day, the best way she could do that was to let him sleep.

When he didn't call all day, she figured he was just busy. When he didn't call around dinner time – as had become his habit if they weren't together – she started to think he was annoyed with her. So she finally bit the bullet and called him herself on her way home, only to get Director Shepard and the frightening news.

Finally arriving at Bethesda, Hollis was directed to the trauma center and met by Jenny.

"Lt. Col. Mann, I want to apologize again for not calling you sooner. Please believe me when I say there was no intent on my part to keep you in the dark," Jenny said.

Hollis frowned. She hadn't even considered that. She knew Jethro and Jenny had been together in the past. They'd been work partners for six years, lovers for some of that time. She also knew that while Jethro still had fond feelings for her, and was of course still physically attracted to her, there was no longer any love there. Whatever there had been between them had ended badly when Jenny Shepard somehow hurt him. Hollis didn't know the details, didn't care to. She certainly didn't feel jealous of Jethro's former lover.

"Didn't even cross my mind," Hollis said when she realized her internal ruminations were starting to affect Jenny. "How is he?"

"His heart spontaneously restarted right after I called you. He's still on the ventilator. Let me take you to him." Jenny escorted her into the room.

Hollis felt a lump form in her throat on seeing him laid out so still on the crisp white sheets. His chest rose and fell with every whistle of the ventilator. A low beeping marked the progress of his heart on a monitor above the bed. There was a grouping of deep purple bruises on his sternum. His face was placid, so she figured he was probably in no pain, though he was clearly going to be when he woke up. She moved to the bedside and ghosted her fingers over the bruises. Gently, she brushed his silver-gray hair off his forehead and leaned down to kiss the bared skin. She traced his arched eyebrows, ran her fingers around and down his jaw line, avoiding the breathing tube. God, she loved this man. After gazing at his face for a full minute, watching for any sign that he was aware of her presence, she cleared her throat and spoke.

"What happened to his chest? You said he wasn't injured in the accident," Hollis said.

"I don't know. He didn't look that bad when I last saw him," Jenny said.

"CPR," a young blond woman in khaki scrubs said from the side table. "The bystander who performed it definitely saved his life, but even the best-performed CPR can lead to fractures and deep bruising. While he was on the pacemaker and his circulatory system was under stress, his body was shunting blood to his organs, only providing minimal blood to the small capillaries, like the ones in the surface of the skin. It's why he was so pale. Once his heart began beating normally, the blood flow was restored to the small capillaries and the bruises started to come up."

"Does he have fractures?" Hollis asked.

"No. The CPR was performed nearly perfectly. He was blessed in many ways today."

"This is Jill," Jenny introduced them. "She's his primary nurse. This is Lt. Col. Mann, Army CID. She's Special Agent Gibbs'… girlfriend," she said after a moment's hesitation.

"Seems a little juvenile at our age, doesn't it, Director?" Hollis said with a smile.

"A little," Jenny admitted. "And call me Jenny."

"Hollis," she said, and turned back to the nurse. "What can you tell me about his condition?"

"How much do you know already?" Jill asked. She came closer to the bed.

"Jenny told me he'd been drugged with GHB, then had a car accident. That his heart wasn't beating and he wasn't breathing on his own."

"As you can see, he's off cardiac life-support, and his heart appears to be functioning within normal limits. His blood pressure is holding steady, has been throughout. He's showing an occasional attempt at breath, which is a very good sign. There is still enough GHB in his blood to explain his continued coma, so we're not too worried at this point."

"Still? How much was he given?" Hollis asked.

"There's no way to know. We can tell by the high concentration in his blood on his arrival and the symptoms he's shown that it was a very large dose. It was mixed into a juice, which he apparently drank several glasses of. But he is making progress. The doctor anticipates him starting to come around within the next hour or two."

"When will you start to worry?" Hollis asked. Jill hesitated.

"Every patient is different. Some recover more quickly than others," she said.

"When?" Hollis repeated, her tone telling the nurse she wasn't going to settle for a pat answer.

"If he hasn't come around within, say, four hours of the time the drug is no longer detectible in his blood, we'll most likely admit him and run more tests."

"Thank-you," Hollis said. "Alright if I stay with him?" she asked.

"That would be fine," Jill agreed.

"I'll leave him to you," Jenny said. "I'll be down the hall if you need me." She stepped out. Hollis looked around for a chair or stool. Jill pulled a visitor's chair over next to the bed for her. Hollis took one of Jethro's hands in hers and sat down next to him. She wasn't much one for prayer, but she figured it couldn't hurt.

* * *

To Be Continued... Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	15. Chapter 15

**Lying Eyes Part 15**

**by joykatleen**

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* * *

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After the advance of his second book was released to another round of rave reviews and record pre-order sales, McGee decided it was time to move up. He'd left his apartment in the city and bought a four-bedroom house on a quiet street in Silver Spring, Maryland. It was too big for him, but he liked the space. He kept a room for his sister, Sarah, though she came over only occasionally. One of the bedrooms he'd turned into a library and writing space. The last wasn't furnished, and he kept it mostly as a junk storage room.

So he wasn't surprised, when he finally made it home, to find that Ziva had parked Abby in Sarah's bedroom. She was sleeping again, though Ziva said it had taken her a long time to convince Abby to go to bed. She was worried about Tony and Gibbs, and wasn't happy that Ziva wouldn't take her to the hospital to see them. McGee had considered stopping by Bethesda himself, but he knew Gibbs would want him to get back to work. He also knew that Gibbs would consider his highest priority to be seeing to Abby's safety. So he'd kept in touch with the Director by phone and gone straight home.

McGee hooked his laptop into his home network and brought up the three searches the computers at the office had been running: the comparisons of Abby's sketch to armed forces personnel, the location trap on DeLaCruz's phone, and his trace of the AOL address. He started them all running again. His computers were set up in the wide-open sunken den, and that all by itself had made the move worthwhile: the heat generated by the electronics had kept his small apartment in a constant state of warm. The extra space allowed the heat to dissipate nicely, and whatever was left was quickly taken care of by his solar-powered A/C system.

Ziva was prowling around the house. The alarm was set, and she'd checked all the doors and windows more than once, but still she prowled. McGee went to work on the email traces and tried to ignore her.

By 9:00 McGee had been working steadily for almost two hours. He'd hacked into AOL's main server in Northern Virginia, but was having trouble getting through the firewalls they put around subscriber account information. The Internet giant prided itself on the security of its servers, and McGee kept running into dead ends and block walls.

He almost missed the breakthrough when it came. A tiny opening in the firewall, unstable and temporary, and he passed right by it before what his eyes saw reached his brain and he skipped back to it. Sure enough, a way in.

Then, 15 minutes later, there it was. A name, address, and landline phone number for the owner of one of the email addresses coming from the same computer as the emails harassing Abby and the death threats against Gibbs. McGee quickly copied it to his hard drive and wrote it on paper, just in case. McGee turned to his laptop and used its connection to the NCIS mainframe to confirm that the address matched the phone number, and that both actually existed. The name on the email account didn't match the owner of the house at the address given, but that didn't mean anything. Could be a relative, could be a roommate. But the computer was definitely there. He'd done it.

McGee grabbed his desk phone and called Gibbs' cell. It rang twice before McGee realized what he was doing and cradled the phone. He couldn't call Gibbs. He couldn't call Tony.

"Ziva, I found him," he said aloud. She appeared in the den and looked over his shoulder at the computer.

"Where is he?"she asked.

"The computer he sent the emails from is at a house in Woodbridge."

"Virginia?" Ziva said.

"Yes."

"Are you sure he lives there?" Ziva asked.

"No. But he's used that computer to send more than 100 emails to Abby. So he obviously spends time there."

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

"Two. According to property tax roles, house belongs to Devin Jennings. The email account I traced belongs to Richard Wilson. Could be either of them, could be neither. But whoever's at that house knows who sent the emails."

"What now?" Ziva asked.

"I need to call it in."

"To whom?" she asked.

"Director Shepard, I suppose," McGee said, and the phone on his desk rang. He looked at it, then picked it up.

"Hello?" he said.

"Did you just call?" It was Director Shepard.

"No, Director," McGee said. He looked up at Ziva, confused.

"You didn't just call Gibbs' cell?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, yes. I did," McGee said.

"Why?" Jenny asked when he didn't continue.

"I was calling to tell him I traced the source of the emails DeLaCruz sent to Abby," McGee said.

She paused. "He's still unconscious, Special Agent McGee."

"I know, Director. I just… it was automatic. I wasn't thinking."

"Okay. You said you traced the source. What did you find?"

"The physical address of the computer that sent the emails," McGee said. "We've got two names, the account owner and the homeowner. No way to know which one he is, or if he's either."

"What do you want to do, McGee?" Jenny asked.

"Um, well, we don't know who's in the house, if the guy is there or not, so it might be a good idea to stake out the house, use the sketch Abby came up with to see if it matches anyone who shows up, that is, if you think that's a good idea, Director." McGee was looking to Ziva for help. She was making encouraging hand motions and trying not to laugh at his nervousness.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Agent McGee." There was a moment of silence on the line before Jenny continued. "Didn't Agent Gibbs leave you in charge of Abby's protection detail?"

"Uh, indirectly, yes ma'am," McGee said.

"Okay. Give me your address. I'll pick up Ziva and we'll sit on the house, see what we see."

McGee was stunned into silence. "Um, you're going to stake out the house, Director?" he asked.

"Well yes, Special Agent McGee, I thought I might. It's not like I don't remember how to run a stakeout."

"That's not what I meant, Director, I just thought you might send…"

"McGee, Gibbs will not be happy with you or with me if you let another team take over this investigation. Since half of your team is currently under doctor's supervision, you're going to need some help. I'm volunteering. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No ma'am, not at all," McGee backpedaled. "That'd be a great idea, and a big help."

"Good. I'll be over as soon as I can get a change of clothes. Can I bring you anything?"

"No, ma'am," McGee said.

"Fine then. Your address?" McGee gave it to her and she signed off, leaving McGee staring blankly at the handset. What had just happened?

"What did she say?" Ziva asked.

"She's coming over, then the two of you are going to stake out this house."

"Excellent," she said. "It will be like old times." She left the den, McGee staring after her.

* * *

Jenny packed up her papers for the final time and went to DiNozzo's room. He was lying back against the semi-reclined bed, his head turned away from the door, watching blue lines trace his heart beats across the monitor. Jenny moved to the side of the bed. DiNozzo rolled his head that way.

"McGee might have an address on the suspect. Ziva and I are going to stake out the house."

"You sure that's a good idea, Director?" he asked. "I'll be out of here in a few hours. Can't it wait?"

"You and McGee are as bad as Gibbs," Jenny said, shaking her head. "I am still an NCIS agent, I still carry a gun, and I haven't forgotten how to use it. We're going to take the sketch Abby came up with and sit on the house, see if anyone shows up who looks like him. We're not planning on making an arrest, since I suspect McGee didn't come up with this information through authorized channels."

"Probably not," DiNozzo agreed. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright. Be careful. Call me if…" he sighed. He didn't have his cell. "I'll call you when I'm released."

Jenny rested a hand on DiNozzo's arm. "Do me a personal favor, Tony," Jenny said. When he raised his eyebrows in a questioning look, she smiled. "Stay here until the doctor says you can go? Please? I don't want to have to worry about you suddenly falling out at an inopportune moment."

DiNozzo nodded. "I'll stay."

"Thank you," Jenny said.

"How's Gibbs?" Tony asked.

"Holding his own. He's started to take a few breaths. Col. Mann is with him," Jenny said.

"I'll probably stay here until he's awake," DiNozzo said. "He's going to have questions, and he's going to be pissed if no one's here to answer them."

Jenny considered him. "You're right. I'll do my best to keep you updated." She headed for Gibbs' room.

Jenny knew Gibbs inspired loyalty in his people. DiNozzo and McGee would willingly go through the wars if Gibbs asked them to. She'd seen firsthand the sacrifices they'd made on his behalf, and it never ceased to amaze her. Even Ziva had fallen under his spell. Thing was, he repaid their loyalty in spades. Most of the disagreements she and Gibbs had had since she'd become director of NCIS were caused by his rabid defense of his people. They were his, and no one – not even the Director – was allowed to attack them. Or question his authority over them.

During Gibbs' four-month hiatus after the explosion in Norfolk, Jenny had brought DiNozzo in to participate in her hunt for the international arms dealer known as 'La Grenouille'. On Gibbs' return, Tony had been caught between Jenny's order to keep her secret mission a secret and Gibbs' need to reestablish control over his team. It was no surprise to her that in the end, Tony had chosen Gibbs over her. What had surprised her, at least at first, was his decision to turn down the chance she'd offered him to lead his own team in Spain. His rather lame excuses about staying to be sure Gibbs was back to full strength after his return to duty hadn't neared the truth of why he was turning down such an opportunity. The truth was, DiNozzo's loyalty to Gibbs outweighed even his own career aspirations. She only hoped, when the next offer came, that DiNozzo would think of himself first. She might have to enlist Gibbs' help to push DiNozzo out of the nest, so to speak. The thought made her smile.

The smile faded as she entered Gibbs' room. She'd hoped to see some improvement in his condition in the time Hollis had been there, but he was still on the ventilator, still motionless. The monitor was still beeping steadily.

"Any change?" she asked anyway.

"He's trying to breathe a little more often," Hollis said. "He's been twitching. Some response to painful stimuli. That's it."

"That's an improvement, isn't it?" Jenny asked.

"Doctor says so," she said. She was still holding one of his hands. Jenny watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments before she spoke again.

"Jethro keeps his own timetable, Hollis. He always has." Hollis gave a weak smile in return. She was clearly frightened for him.

"Officer David and I are going to run down a lead Agent McGee found on this suspect," Jenny said. "DiNozzo says he's going to stay here until Gibbs wakes up. Have him call me when he does."

Hollis nodded and Jenny turned to go.

"Jenny?" Hollis said. Jenny turned back.

"Be careful. You're very important to him."

"I know," Jenny smiled, and left.

* * *

After Ziva left with Director Shepard, McGee went to work on his new task: making it legal. The Director had asked him to tell her exactly where he'd gotten the information. Despite trying his best to talk around the details, she'd pushed until he had to admit he'd broken the law to get it. He'd expected to be reprimanded. Hell, he'd expected to be fired. But all she'd asked was if Gibbs knew, and when he reluctantly admitted it, she'd told him to back-track and find some way to get it legally before they found the suspect and had to release him for lack of probable cause.

So with one ear on Abby's room, he started working on it. He figured his best bet would be the doctrine of inevitable discovery: If he could prove to a judge that he would have eventually discovered the information legally, it could be admitted in court even though he'd initially broken the law to get it. So how could he have gotten it legally? Now that he had the end product, producing it might be easier.

It was past three a.m. when a noise from down the hall caught his attention. A small thud, some shuffling noises, a door opening. He turned in his chair to see Abby moving slowly down the hall toward him.

"Abby! Are you alright?" He jumped up to meet her and took her arm, letting her lean against him. She was bent slightly at the waist, bracing her ribs with the Goth teddy bear.

"Okay," Abby said. "Hurting. But okay." McGee helped her down the two steps into the den and to his oversize easy chair. She was still wearing the black skeleton-decaled sweat suit she'd had on when she left home.

"Do you need some more pain meds?" McGee asked.

"Is it time yet?" she asked as she settled in the chair. He checked his watch.

"An hour ago. I'll be right back." He went into the kitchen, poured her a glass of milk and shook one of the pills out of the bottle he'd brought over from her house.

"Milk? No Caf-Pow?" she asked when he reappeared.

"It says to take it with milk or food." Abby took the glass and the pill and swallowed it.

"Where's Ziva?" Abby asked.

"She and Director Shepard are working on something. They'll be back in the morning."

"Have you heard from the hospital?" she asked after he was seated in his computer chair again.

"Tony woke up, and he's doing fine. He'll be released in a few hours," McGee said.

"That's great! What about Gibbs?" she asked. She rested her chin on the bear's head and looked at him from under her eyelashes.

"He's breathing a little, responding to some stimuli."

"He's still unconscious?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"Yes. He got a lot more of the drug. But the doctor isn't worried yet." Abby was frowning, taking shallow breaths. "It's alright, Abby."

"He could die," she whispered.

"No, Abby. The only people who die from this drug are the ones who don't get medical help right away. He did. It's just taking some time to work out of his system. That's all. He'll be alright. He's tough."

"Yes. He is," Abby said with a firm nod.

"Are you hungry?" McGee asked. She shook her head. "How about something more to drink?" She shook her head again.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Tracking an email address that might belong to DeLaCruz."

"He uses an anonymous address. He said an old girlfriend was trying to track him down, so he changed his address to anon-a-mail."

"I know. I traced the source IP address to an AOL address. But I had to access the FBI's mainframe, without permission. The Director told me to back-track it, find a way to get probable cause. Which means I need to source it independently."

"What have you tried?" she asked.

McGee explained his inevitable discovery idea, and the steps he'd taken so far. She suggested something he hadn't thought of. He started to work on that, and Abby tried to see. She complained she wasn't close enough, so McGee pushed her – in the easy chair – up next to him.

They worked on it for most of an hour before McGee's cell rang. He answered it, identified himself, listened for a minute, then got up and walked down the hall. He spoke softly, his voice too low for Abby to hear, then hung up and returned to the den.

"Gibbs is awake," he announced with a grin, and Abby squealed.

* * *

To Be Continued... Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	16. Chapter 16

**Lying Eyes Part 16**

**By joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

DiNozzo was released just after two a.m. Dr. Bailey encouraged him to go home and sleep, but he'd parked himself on a chair in Gibbs' room instead. Hollis was still keeping vigil at Gibbs' bedside, holding his left hand where it rested on the mattress. The last blood test taken from Gibbs more than three hours before showed the drug was no longer detectible. He'd been slowly starting to come around over the past several hours, taking more independent breaths and responding more purposefully to stimulation. His heart rate was still stable and strong.

Just before 3:00, Hollis was startled by Gibbs' hand twitching in hers. She squeezed his fingers and felt him squeeze back. She stood up and leaned over the bed.

"Jethro?" she called. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, and he blinked. Then again.

"Can you hear me?" she asked. He looked up at her, squeezed his eyes shut, then popped them open wider. A look of pain crossed his face. The monitor above the bed began beeping faster and irregularly.

"It's alright, Jethro," she said. "DiNozzo! Get the nurse." DiNozzo stood quickly and stepped out into the hall.

"You're alright, you're at the hospital," Hollis said. She raised his hand up toward her and he cringed and jerked back.

"Oh, I bet that hurt, didn't it," Hollis said and winced in sympathy. In her excitement at seeing him awaken, she'd forgotten what the doctor had said about the swelling that was already coming up on his left shoulder, and how sore it was going to be. She gently laid his hand back on the bed and rested her own hand on his forearm.

"Special Agent Gibbs?" The night nurse came bustling in, moving quickly to the side of the bed away from Hollis. Gibbs' eyes went to her. She took his right hand.

"If you can understand me, squeeze my hand," she said. He did. She let go and pulled out her stethoscope. "Excellent. My name's Jill Brennan. I'm a nurse here at Bethesda Naval Medical Center. You've been in a coma. I want you to take a deep breath for me, okay?" He did and the ventilator whistled. She listened to him take a couple breaths, listened to his heart, examined the screen on the monitor and pushed the button on the blood pressure machine.

"You're going to be fine," she said after a minute. "I'm going to get the doctor, see about getting that tube out of your throat, okay?" He nodded a little and she left.

"Hey Boss, how ya doing?" DiNozzo took her place by the bed. Gibbs looked at him, then back at Hollis. His throat worked against the tube. His eyes squeezed shut again and his brow furrowed.

"Jethro?" Hollis said. He opened his eyes. "You're hurting." His head bobbed. "Just hang on, the nurse will be right back." He looked over at DiNozzo and raised his right hand weakly. DiNozzo caught it.

"You're alright. I'll explain everything as soon as the doctor checks you out." Gibbs pushed at DiNozzo's hand, uncurling Tony's fingers so the tips of Gibbs' fingers rested on Tony's palm. DiNozzo frowned. "What?" he asked. Gibbs extended his index finger and made a motion on DiNozzo's open palm. DiNozzo watched him as he drew something, but didn't get it.

"I don't get it," DiNozzo said. Gibbs tried again. "Is it a letter?" Gibbs nodded once and drew it again. DiNozzo still didn't get it, but across the bed, Hollis did.

"It's an A?" she said, a question in her voice. He nodded and started to draw something else. DiNozzo closed his hand gently around Gibbs' fingers.

"It's okay, Boss," DiNozzo said. "Abby's fine." Gibbs nodded. "McGee's got her at his house. She's worried about you, but she's fine." Gibbs shut his eyes and let his hand fall back to the mattress.

"Special Agent Gibbs, welcome back." Dr. Bailey came into the room. "We're going to get that tube out of your throat now."

DiNozzo got out of the way and Dr. Bailey did what was necessary to pull the tube. Gibbs' coughs were weak, and when the tube cleared his voice box, a moan of pain was heard. Hollis squeezed his forearm. Jill raised the head of the bed so he was sitting up and hooked oxygen tubing over his ears and under his nose. He was breathing shallowly and way too fast. His inspirations were gasping and there was a slight whistling sound with every exhalation.

"You need to slow down your breathing, Agent Gibbs," the doctor said. She, too, listened to his lungs, front and back. His head lolled toward Hollis and he pursed his lips, trying to do as the doctor asked.

"Slow it down, slow it down," Dr. Bailey coached. She moved the stethoscope to the sides of his throat and listened there, trying to figure out where the whistling was coming from. His right hand fluttered up near his chest and he pressed his spread fingers over his sternum.

"I know it hurts. Just hang on," Dr. Bailey said as she hung the stethoscope around her neck. "Give me 10 of morphine," she told Jill, who slipped out.

"Jethro," Hollis said. "Look at me." He opened his eyes and met hers. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this." She took deep breaths in through her nose, blowing it out through pursed lips. He followed her for two breaths, then took four gasping ones. The whistling sound continued.

"Come on, Jethro. Breathe with me." He kept trying and over the next few minutes, managed to slow down to a still-fast but more reasonable rate of respiration. He was sweating and his hand was still pressed against his chest.

Jill returned with a loaded syringe.

"Hold on just a minute longer, Agent Gibbs," Dr. Bailey said. "We're going to make it better in just a minute. Ever had morphine before?" He nodded rapidly several times. "Any problems with it?" He shook his head. "Good." She found his IV line, pinched it shut, and injected about half the morphine into a port midway between his hand and where the line was stopped.

"It'll just be a minute. Hang on," she said. She released the line and twisted the valve on the IV bag all the way open so the fluid was free-flowing. Hollis used a corner of the sheet to wipe the sweat off Gibbs' face.

As the drug flowed through his system, Gibbs settled. His breathing slowed, his hand fell away from his chest, and he seemed to relax. The beeping on the monitor let them all know his heart rate was stabilizing. Jill offered him water, which he drank deeply. The whistling sound quieted, then stopped as he worked moisture into his throat.

Dr. Gelfand came into the room.

"Agent Gibbs, welcome back," Gelfand said. Gibbs nodded at him. Gelfand looked at the monitor and spoke quietly to Dr. Bailey for a moment.

"That pain any better?" Dr. Bailey asked, though she could tell it was.

"Better," he croaked. "What the hell happened?"

"We'll get to that in just a minute. First I need you to tell me where you're hurting."

"Chest, here," he fluttered his fingers over his sternum. "And my shoulder, a little in my neck. My throat is killing me."

"That's from the vent. It'll pass shortly. Anywhere else?" Gibbs closed his eyes to focus, then shook his head.

"Knees, but they usually do. That's it." He coughed, and flinched.

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain you've ever felt in your life, how bad was the pain when you first woke up?"

"Nine," Gibbs said without stopping to think. He could only remember feeling pain worse than that once before.

"And now?"

"Two, maybe three," he said.

"Good. Very good. The morphine acts fast, but it doesn't last long. I want you to let us know when it gets back up to six, okay?" He nodded.

"Alright. A quick memory check, and we'll answer all your questions as best we can. My name is Dr. Lynn Bailey. I want you to remember that if you can. What's my name?"

"Dr. Lynn Bailey," Gibbs said.

"Good. What's your full name?"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"What day is it today?"

"It was Wednesday, last I remember."

"It's about 3:15 on Thursday morning now, so that's good. Tell me where you are right now."

"Bethesda, looks like trauma."

"And what are you doing here?" she asked.

"That nurse said I was in a coma. Don't know why yet," Gibbs answered. He swiped at the sweat on his brow. "More water?" Jill brought it over and he drank another glass full. He coughed a little and felt the pain return, though it was still subdued.

"You okay?" Dr. Bailey asked when she saw him cringe.

"It hurts."

"What number would you give it?"

"Four," he said.

"Okay. You let me know if it gets to a six. What's my name?"

"Dr. Bailey."

"Excellent. I think you're going to be fine. You've been in a coma for about 11 hours. You were given a significant dose of the drug GHB sometime before four yesterday afternoon and subsequently went into cardiac arrest. A bystander who witnessed it started CPR and kept you alive until the medics arrived. That's the reason for the pain and bruising on your chest."

"Fractures?" Gibbs asked. He knew the statistics on bystander CPR: more than half the time it resulted in rib and sternum fractures, and more than 80 percent of the time it did no good whatsoever. He was glad to be in the 20 percent, and hoped he was also in the lucky half.

"No fractures," she confirmed. "The guy knew what he was doing."

"Do you have his name?" Gibbs asked. Dr. Bailey smiled. She'd anticipated the question.

"And his phone number. He actually came by to see you. You can call him in the morning if you'd like. I'm sure he'd appreciate it." Gibbs nodded, and Dr. Bailey continued.

"Medics weren't able to get your heart to restart, and neither were we, so we continued the chest compressions until we got you on an external pacemaker. The pacemaker sent an electrical shock from that pad on your chest through your heart to a matching one on your back. It caused your heart to pump, but in the process innervated your pectoral, trapezius and deltoid muscles." She indicated his chest, collar and shoulder areas without touching him.

"Sixty times a minute, for more than four hours, those muscles were stimulated. It's like you were working a shoulder press at maximum weight for about a week. We've started you on anti-inflammatory drugs, but it's still pretty swollen. That's why it probably feels like someone tried to tear your arm off."

Gibbs nodded. "What else?"

"What's my name?" she asked.

"Lynn Bailey. Why do you keep asking me that?"

"GHB plays with the memory. There's typically some short-term memory loss in the first few hours after you wake up from a coma caused by this drug. You've been drug-free for about three hours already, but we have to be sure you're hanging on to new information."

"Okay. What else?"

"As the drug cleared your system, your heart restarted, about six hours ago. We've done two CTs of your heart, one when you first came in and one after your heart restarted and everything looks good. Your heart doesn't appear to have suffered any significant damage, and is now functioning well and at full capacity. You've got a little fluid in your lungs, which is normal for being on a ventilator for so long. We'll treat that pharmaceutically over the next couple of hours. Your heart rate and blood pressure are good. You're going to be sore for awhile, and your stamina's likely to be decreased for the next day or two, but so far it looks like you're going to be fine."

Gibbs nodded. "How'd I get drugged?"

"At Abby's," DiNozzo spoke up from where he'd been standing at the side of the room. He moved closer to the bed. "McGee says DeLaCruz convinced the apartment manager yesterday morning that Abby needed something from her apartment and the manager let him in. Lt. Hanson found traces of GHB in the juice we drank."

"I was at Abby's?" Gibbs said. He frowned. "I don't remember going there."

"You came over to get Abby's cell, brought pizza," DiNozzo said.

Gibbs concentrated hard. "I don't remember that either."

"That's alright, Agent Gibbs," Dr. Bailey said. "The GHB causes retrograde amnesia. What's the last thing you do remember?"

Gibbs considered. "McGee… McGee's computer called him. I was at the office. In Jenny's office." He took a breath. "It's confusing."

DiNozzo spoke again. "You called me at Abby's, said there'd been some action on DeLaCruz's phone. He called Abby's cell, which was in my trunk. You said you were going to come over and get it. That's about the last thing I remember before waking up here."

"He got you too?" Gibbs asked, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Yeah, but I'm young and strong and I woke up about seven hours ago," DiNozzo said. Gibbs raised his hand in a weak threatening motion and DiNozzo jerked his head forward as if he'd been hit.

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said, but he looked unrepentant.

"You alright?" Gibbs asked, seriously.

"Better than you. No, really," he added when Gibbs glared at him. "It didn't get me as bad. They're theorizing that you drank more juice than I did, and I threw some of it up. I was passed out at Abby's kitchen table when the medics showed. Thanks for that, by the way." When Gibbs looked confused, he continued. "The Director said you called her after you plowed into a guardrail on the beltway, told her what was going on so she could send help."

"I crashed my car?" Gibbs asked.

"The sedan," DiNozzo supplied.

"Damn," Gibbs said and beside him, Hollis had to smile. She, too, would almost rather deal with increased personal insurance rates than the paperwork involved in wrecking a government vehicle. She squeezed his forearm and he gave her a small smile.

"Bottom line, I'm fine, Abby's fine – she was sleeping and didn't drink any of the juice – you're going to be fine, but the sedan is totaled," DiNozzo said. "McGee's taking care of Abby. Ziva and the Director are staking out the address McGee came up with for DeLaCruz. They haven't made contact yet."

"They're doing what?" Gibbs looked up at him sharply.

"McGee found the computer that sent the emails. It's in a house in Woodbridge. They're doing a passive stakeout, see if the guy in Abby's sketch shows up."

"Jenny's on it?" he asked. DiNozzo shrugged.

"She came in and told me she was going. I asked her if it couldn't wait until tomorrow, she said no."

Gibbs shook his head, clearly indicating what he thought of that idea. "I need to talk to her."

"You need to rest for a little while first, Agent Gibbs," Dr. Bailey said, reentering the conversation. "Your body has been through a significant trauma."

"When can I go?" he asked. She smiled.

"Did you hear what I just said? Your body has been traumatized. You're going to be here at least through this afternoon. Maybe overnight tonight."

"I need to get back to work," Gibbs argued. "My people are in trouble, and I need be there."

"She's not going to listen, Boss," DiNozzo said. "And you should listen to her. I didn't, and got up close and personal with the floor. That drug packs a wallop."

"I'm a little sore, but I'm fine," Gibbs argued.

"No, you're not fine," Dr. Bailey said. "It's the morphine, masking the pain. You were on life support for a significant length of time. Your body has been traumatized, and no matter how tough you are, you need to respect that."

"Write me some prescriptions to go. I'll be fine," Gibbs said. "I'm tougher than I look." Dr. Bailey looked over to where Todd had been standing, listening but not participating. Todd smiled, and made a go-ahead gesture with his hand.

"You'd have to be, because at the moment you look like crap," Dr. Bailey said. Gibbs' eyebrows raised in surprise. She moved over beside the bed and looked down at him.

"Look, Agent Gibbs. I'm a little tired, and I've already been through this argument once with Agent DiNozzo. He decided he needed to leave early, and I let him fall out of the bed to prove he needed to stay." Gibbs' eyes flickered to DiNozzo, who shrugged sheepishly.

"With the pain you're in, my conscience won't let me let you try. So let's try this instead." She pulled at her lab coat, letting it fall off one shoulder.

"Know what these mean?" She gestured to the shoulder insignia on her uniform blouse, which had been hidden by her coat. Two wide gold stripes bracketing a narrow stripe. Gold oak leaf above the stripe closest to her neck, little green acorn superimposed on top.

"Lieutenant Commander, US Navy Medical Corps," he said.

"Which pretty much trumps Gunnery Sergeant, USMC," she said.

"You're pulling rank?" he asked incredulously. He was no longer an active member of the Marine Corps, but once a Marine, always a Marine, and he still respected the chain of command. Which she, of course, knew.

"I am. And you can consider this an order. You will stay here, under observation, for the next 12 hours. If, at that time, I agree you're well enough to leave here with oral medications, I will let you go. Until then, consider yourself confined to quarters. These quarters."

Gibbs looked around the room. Jill was trying to stay out of it. DiNozzo's expression was impassive. Captain Gelfand, who'd been standing out of the way, stepped up.

"You'd get the same speech from me," he said. "With a couple more stripes to make it interesting."

Hollis squeezed his forearm and he turned to look at her. "Whose side are you on?" he asked.

"Yours. Which means me and my little silver oak leaf say you need to stay here."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked her, eyes narrowed. She patted his arm.

"A little," Hollis admitted. "First time I've ever actually seen anyone put you in your place, Jethro." She smiled. He sighed, then grimaced as a shot of pain reminded him of the condition of his chest.

"Fine. Can I at least make some phone calls?" he asked.

"In an hour. I'm sure Agent DiNozzo can take care of business that long."

"Maybe. DiNozzo?" He looked back to Tony.

"Call McGee, check on Abby, let them know you're awake and back in charge. Then call the Director, get a sit-rep, tell her you're not pleased she's in the field following up on leads in your case. Anything else?"

"You can leave out the 'not pleased' part. I'll tell her that myself."

"Very good, sir," DiNozzo said, and snapped off a salute.

"Knock it off, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled. "How much does Abby know?"

"She saw them take me away. I'm not sure what McGee told her about you."

"Don't give her any details she doesn't already have, and tell everyone to keep their mouths shut. I'm awake and going to be fine. That's all she needs to know."

"Got it." He pulled out his phone and stepped out.

"Thank-you, Agent Gibbs," Dr. Bailey said. "I really didn't want to have to get out my restraints."

A smart-ass comment floated into his brain, but Hollis' hand on his arm – and the pain he could feel starting to rise from his chest – quashed it and he said nothing. She smiled at him and went to the side table to make a note in his chart.

Jill came over and gently removed the pacemaker pads from Gibbs' chest and back. They'd been disconnected from the power source, but left in place just in case. She pulled a hospital gown off a shelf and helped him put it on over his IV line. Another nurse came in and handed over several small IV bags. Jill hung two of the bags next to two that were already there. Gibbs noticed one of the old ones was flat and empty. She worked with the tubing to connect one new bag and swap out the empty.

"What's that?" he asked.

"One contains a medicine to help dry out your lungs. The other has a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug, to reduce the swelling in your chest and shoulder," Jill said.

"Any pain meds?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Do you need more?"

"How's that pain, Agent Gibbs?" Dr. Bailey asked from where she was still making notes.

"Starting to feel it again," he said. He ran his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that was beginning to form there.

"Can you give it a number?" she asked.

"Maybe seven," he said. She came over to the bedside. She noticed his increasing respirations, the sweat that had broken out on his face, and shook her head.

"You were supposed to tell me when it got to six," she said, a light reprimand clear in her voice. Jill handed her the half-full syringe of morphine. Dr. Bailey injected about half of what was left.

"We've got a couple of options for pain control at this point," she said after she returned the remaining drug to Jill. She leaned on the bed rail. "The pain's going to keep coming back. I can put you on a low-dose morphine drip, which will keep the pain at a prescribed level with no spikes."

"What's the down side?" he asked. The pain in his chest, which had been stabbing him every time he took a breath for the past five minutes, started to recede.

"I'd have to admit you," she said. He immediately started shaking his head.

"I know you don't want to stay," she said. "I just wanted to present the option, because it lets you be virtually pain-free. The other option is to hook you up to an on-demand pump for the next six or eight hours. We load it with the maximum dosage and give you a trigger. You push it every time the pain gets above your level of tolerance. Up side to that is you choose the dose, and only use what you need. Then we can switch more easily to oral meds when it's time to release you."

"He won't take it," Hollis said. She was still sitting on his left side, holding his hand on the bed.

"Everyone's got a limit, Colonel," Dr. Bailey said with a smile. "Even stubborn Gunnys."

"I'll take it when I need it, Holly," Gibbs said.

"Then that's what we'll do," Dr. Bailey said. "I'll put in the order, then I'm going to clear everyone out of here and let you rest for a bit."

"I'm staying," Hollis said.

"He needs to rest," Dr. Bailey said.

"I'll rest," Gibbs said. "She stays." His tone left no room for argument. The doctor sighed.

"If I live to be 100, I will never understand Marines. Fine. She stays. Jill will get that pump going, and I'll be back to check on you in an hour."

"Thank-you, Commander," Gibbs said.

"Doctor is fine," she said and smiled at him.

DiNozzo returned a moment later. "Abby is awake, McGee said she's doing alright. She and McGee are working on probable cause for the address he found. The Director says there's a black Suburban parked in the driveway, registration matches the homeowner. It was already there when they got there. They're going to stay on it until morning, see who drives it away, see where he goes. She said she'd call when they knew something."

"Good. Go home, DiNozzo. Rest."

"You sure, Boss? I could stay," he said.

"Go," he ordered, and DiNozzo nodded.

"Going," he said.

Jill returned with an IV pump which she clamped to the pole at the head of the bed. She fiddled with it, connected its tubing to the IV in Gibbs' hand, inserted two large vials into the pump's chambers, then ran a cord with a push-button trigger at the end through the rails on the right side of the bed. She used the attached clip to secure the cord to the pillow next to Gibbs' head and handed him the trigger.

"When you want a dose, you push this button, here," she instructed, pointing to the bright red button on top of the gray trigger. "It will beep to let you know you've pushed it hard enough. The machine is set up to limit the dose to a safe level. You can max out if you need to at one dose every ten minutes. And don't worry, it won't let you overdose."

Gibbs nodded. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the trigger, holding it loosely.

"It's very important that you're the only one to push the trigger." She looked at Hollis. "Though the machine is set up not to let him overdose, the purpose of it is to gauge how much medication he actually needs, and if you push the button for him every ten minutes, he may get too much. Do you understand?" Hollis nodded.

"Good. I'm going to lay you down a little." She lowered the head of the bed until he was almost flat. "The bed controls and call button are here." She indicated the display between the bed rails. "Try to rest. If you need anything, call." She turned off the room lights, leaving only the work light on the side table.

For awhile, the room was silent except for the regular low beep of the heart monitor. Gibbs stared at the ceiling. Hollis sat next to him, resting her hand on his forearm again. He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. She was surprised when he spoke almost twenty minutes later.

"He got me," Gibbs said. "Just like Abby said he would."

Hollis didn't respond. She wasn't sure what to say, or if he wanted her to say anything.

"I told her he wouldn't get me, that I was better than that. She ran down a list of everyone in the past five years who'd tried to kill me. I guess there's one more now."

"I don't think he was trying to kill you, Jethro. From what DiNozzo says, the drug was intended for Abby. He couldn't have known you'd be there."

"He was there. Why didn't he move on Abby after I left?" Gibbs turned to look at her. "Between me leaving and locals arriving must have been at least 20 minutes. He had plenty of opportunity."

"How do you know he was there?" she asked.

"He was," Gibbs stated. And she believed him. "He wasn't watching when I arrived. But he was there."

"If he wasn't watching when you got there, maybe he didn't see you leave, either. He couldn't have known if anyone drank the juice. Maybe he just didn't want to reveal himself too soon."

Gibbs fell silent. She watched him. His heart rate was slightly elevated, his breathing regular but shallow. He was sweating again. He fingered the trigger in his hand, opening and closing his fingers around the barrel of it, but didn't reach for the red button.

"Take it, Jethro," she said.

"What time is it?" he asked instead. She checked her watch.

"4:25."

"In the morning?" he asked. She frowned.

"Yes. Are you alright?"

He swallowed hard. "Fine. I thought I slept."

"I think you did, just for a few minutes."

Gibbs nodded and let his eyes close again. He licked his lips and took several measured, even breaths in and out through his nose.

"I don't like this," Gibbs said. Not sure what he was referring to, Hollis said nothing. Another few minutes passed before: "What time is it?" he asked again.

"4:30."

His thumb moved to the top of the trigger, resting against the button, but he didn't push it.

Hollis leaned in and whispered to him. "It doesn't mean you're weak, Jethro." He nodded.

"I know," he said, and pushed the trigger. There was a subdued beep from the medicine pump.

"Thank you," she said. His lips twitched in a maybe smile. Hollis wiped his face with the sheet, then combed her fingers through his hair. As the drug acted, his breathing evened out again and he settled.

This time, he did fall asleep. She saw it in the gradual relaxation of his face, the way his shoulders settled back against the mattress, the small movements he always made when he first drifted off. Hollis was glad. Any time he spent sleeping would mean less pain with less drugs, making them both happy.

When Dr. Bailey came in at 5 a.m., Gibbs was still asleep. She checked the monitor, checked the readout on the morphine pump, looked at the IV bags. She made a note in his chart, then told Hollis to have the nurse call when he woke up.

* * *

to be continued...

Reveiws and other feedback welcome, as always.


	17. Chapter 17

**Lying Eyes Part 17**

**by joykatleen**

Hollis came awake with a start, jerked upright and felt a sharp pull on her hair.

"Easy, Hol." She looked up. Jethro was still lying almost flat on the bed, his head turned toward her. She had fallen asleep in the chair, her head on his bed. Sometime while she slept, Jethro had tangled his fingers into her hair. He lifted his hand slightly off the bed and she freed herself before standing.

"Good morning." She stretched, then leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I fell asleep," she said.

"Me too," he said.

"How's the pain?" Hollis asked.

"Tolerable," he said, and shrugged one shoulder. She noticed he still had the control for the morphine pump in his fist, but didn't comment. She also noted the oxygen tubing was gone.

"How long did you sleep?" she asked instead. She returned to her chair.

"Couple hours, I guess. What time is it?"

"Almost eight," Hollis answered after a glance at her watch.

"Dr. Bailey came in around seven. Said the shift was changing, she was going home."

"And you didn't try to escape?" Hollis asked with a smile.

"Didn't want to wake you up," he said. "But now that you're awake…"

"Yes?" she drawled.

"I need coffee," he said.

"No you don't." A young woman in Corpsman blues came into the room just at that moment with a stack of meal trays and a big smile.

"Too late," Hollis grinned.

"A small cup?" he asked the girl.

"Sorry, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs. Captain Gelfand warned us you'd ask, and he said no way, no how. But I've got breakfast." She put the trays down on the side table.

"Anything good?" Gibbs asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing terrible," she grinned. "Okay if I sit you up?"

Gibbs nodded and she slowly put the head of the bed up. He grimaced a little as he adjusted his back and shoulders against the rising elevation.

"That alright?" she asked. He took a breath and nodded.

"It's okay." She nodded in return and pulled the bed table over the bed. She put one of the trays on the table and took the cover off. Sausage, eggs, fruit, toast, orange juice and milk. It smelled good, but Gibbs wasn't sure he was up for it.

As if reading his mind, the girl spoke again. "Captain Gelfand said the morphine might kill your appetite, but it's important that you try to eat what you can." She removed the cover from the second tray and turned to hold it out to Hollis.

"He ordered you one as well, Lt. Col. Mann."

"Thank-you, Corpsman," Hollis said and took the tray from her. She set it on the bed next to Gibbs' legs. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Ma'am. Enjoy." She started out, then stopped in the entryway and turned back.

"You're NCIS, aren't you, Gunnery Sergeant?" she asked Gibbs.

"I am," he agreed.

"Natalie Pharris was my friend. She was a great person. She didn't deserve to die," she said.

"No, she didn't," Gibbs said.

"Do you know who did it yet?" she asked.

"My people are working it very hard, Corpsman. We will find him."

"Thank-you, Gunny." She left.

Gibbs stared at his meal. His stomach was something less than stable, and though he really wanted some coffee, he couldn't imagine eating anything.

"You okay?" Hollis said as she looked around for a sink and got up to wash her hands.

"Just thinking. I need an update. Is my cell around here somewhere?"

"I don't know, but you can't use it in here anyway." She pulled paper towels out of the holder on the wall and dried her hands. "I'll make some calls for you after we eat."

"Not hungry," he said.

"I am," Hollis said. She sat and unwrapped her utensils. Gibbs watched her eat and felt slightly nauseous. Like any good soldier – or airman, sailor or Marine for that matter – she ate what was put in front of her immediately and without question.

"You need to eat, Jethro," Hollis said around a mouthful of eggs.

He shook his head. She gave him a look of concern, so he reached for the bowl of fresh-cut fruit and picked out a small piece of melon. He chewed it slowly. He was hurting, more than uncomfortable, less than excruciating. He'd had three shots of morphine in the last hour and he was trying not to think about taking another. Gibbs wanted out of here as soon as possible, and he knew he had to keep his intake low if he was going to convince the doctors he was alright.

When he first came to from the coma, it had been like every nerve in his body was on fire. He'd hardly been able to breathe through the pain. Hollis' coaching had helped get his breathing under control, but it wasn't until the morphine flowed that he'd finally felt like he wasn't about to die. That all by itself was disturbing: he hadn't needed pain killers of that strength since he was almost killed in Kuwait in '91. That time, it was the near destruction of his left leg and the months of grueling therapy that followed that left him virtually unable to function without chemical support. Add to that the emotional pain of losing Shannon and Kelly and it had taken him five months to get clear of the drugs. An experience he did not care to repeat.

He'd been telling himself, ever since the doctor finished her rundown on what had happened to him, that the pain this time would be short-lived. That as bad as it hurt, it would all be behind him in a day or two. So there was certainly no reason to get used to the wonderfully numbing effect of morphine again. He would use as little as possible, show the doctor he could get along without it, then go home and deal with it his way. Which was to say, not deal with it at all. It would all be behind him in a day or two. And he had more important things to do.

"Eat," Hollis said, calling him from his self-reflection. He took another piece of fruit. The pain was rising, becoming more and more difficult to compartmentalize, to simply ignore. He was damn good at ignoring what he didn't want to deal with, had been perfecting the technique for 16 years. He liked to think nothing could touch him if he didn't want it to. Physical pain, emotional: What he felt was his choice. Most of the time. Sometimes things got through. When the Navy brass didn't listen to him and several dozen sailors were lost in a terrorist attack on the munitions ship Cape Fear. When it turned out a Navy Captain had arranged for his own wife and daughter to be kidnapped and terrorized so he could embezzle millions under the guise of paying ransom. When the computer-controlled Hummer had nearly killed Abby. When Ari took his people hostage in autopsy then shot him. When Ari killed Kate. Those times, the pain had gotten past his strongest defenses and tried to take him down.

But most of the time, he was in control. And he would be this time, too. He glanced down at the trigger for the morphine pump, which he'd set on the mattress so he could eat. He wanted to pick it up right now. He would wait. He picked up more fruit instead. It was really good, and didn't land hard on his stomach like he'd been afraid it would.

Hollis watched Gibbs eat. She could tell by the expression on his face that he was concentrating on something. She could also tell he was hurting. His left hand hadn't moved off the bed since she'd freed her hair from his fingers. His right, when he raised the fruit to his lips, was trembling slightly. She wished he would take more of the morphine. Hell, she wished he would dope himself into oblivion until he healed. She hated seeing him hurting, knowing there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Or at least not a thing Jethro would let her do about it. He was stubborn, hated showing weakness, and always wanted to be in control. She knew being here was pushing all his buttons in the worst possible way.

"Good morning." Hollis turned to see Dr. Gelfand come in.

"Good morning, Captain Gelfand," Hollis said.

"Todd is fine. How are you this morning, Agent Gibbs?"

"Ready to get out of here. You been home yet?"

"For awhile," he said. "I haven't been on station here long enough to find off-base housing. I've been living in the BOQ. Short commute." He flipped through Gibbs' chart.

"Can't imagine the junior officers think that's a good idea, sharing quarters with their CO," Gibbs commented.

Todd looked up from the chart and smiled. "I try to stay here as much as I can. How's your pain level?" he asked.

"Tolerable." A small sound from Hollis made Gibbs glance her way. She was clearly not pleased with that answer. He ignored her.

"Can you give it a number?" Todd closed the chart and came over to the bedside. He looked at the readout on the morphine pump.

"Maybe a five." The sound of disagreement from Hollis was louder this time.

"Or maybe a six, or a seven?" Todd asked.

"Maybe," Gibbs admitted. "It's tolerable."

"Tolerable is not what we're looking for, Agent Gibbs. I want you to be comfortable."

"I'm fine," Gibbs said. Todd considered him for a moment.

"Lt. Col. Mann, would you mind excusing us for a minute?"

Hollis frowned, but something in his expression stopped her from arguing.

"Certainly. Who did who want me to call, Jethro?"

"Call the office, see if Jenny's in, ask her for an update. If she's not in yet, have Cynthia transfer you to her cell."

"Will do." She glanced at Todd, and slipped out.

Todd waited until she was gone before speaking.

"You're recovering well, Agent Gibbs. According to your chart, the fluid in your lungs has reabsorbed, your heart has shown no sign of damage, and all your vitals are within normal limits. Everything looks good, and I see no problem with sending you home this afternoon."

"Great," Gibbs said. "I sense a 'but'."

"Not a 'but', really," Todd said. "I want to be sure you understand that your pain tolerance level is not a factor in whether or not you get released today."

"Okay. I understand."

"So why aren't you taking the morphine?" Todd asked.

"I'm taking as much as I need," Gibbs answered. He held Todd's gaze evenly.

"Your chart tells me you're not," Todd disagreed. "Your heart rhythm has been regular, but the rate gradually increases the higher your pain level goes. I can tell you within three minutes of every time you've hit that trigger: your pulse drops back into normal range almost immediately. You can deny it all you want, but you're not meeting your body's needs."

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, and Todd put up a hand.

"I know you don't want to take it if you don't absolutely have to. I was there, remember, in Kuwait? I know how badly you were hurt. And I've read your records, so I know what happened after, with the pain meds."

Gibbs stopped. It hadn't occurred to him that his five-month struggle to get off pain killers would have been noted in his medical records as anything more than prescription refills. A lot of the guys in the Wounded Warriors Unit at National Naval Medical Center were drugged to the gills: his use was nothing out of the ordinary for the military. It was only because it bothered him so badly, being dependent on drugs to get through the day, that he'd worked so hard to ditch them. They'd been prescribed for the physical pain. But it was the emotional pain of losing Shannon and Kelly that he'd been using them to treat. When he was ready to deal with that – after his successful trip to Mexico – he'd decided he'd had enough and needed to stop. It had taken longer than he liked, and was as grueling as any military trial he'd ever been through, but he'd done it, without input from anyone. Not one of the military doctors had mentioned they were concerned about his use. As far as he knew, the struggle had been his alone. So what was Todd talking about?

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs said aloud.

"The pain should fade pretty quickly," Todd said, not answering his question. "I'd be surprised if your chest is more than an annoyance by Monday. The shoulder will take longer, maybe a couple weeks before it's back to normal. But today, and for the next couple of days, you're going to need some help.

"Your body has taken a tremendous hit, in a way worse than either of the previous times we've been here. Severe pain puts the body under a great deal of stress, and I'm not sure yours can handle it right now. At the moment, it's just an elevated heart rate, faster respirations. But if you keep it up, keep trying to tough this out, chances are we're going to start to see other complications. Your heart was literally under attack, first from the CPR, then from four hours on a pacemaker. To be blunt, your body needs some relax time, or it's going to quit on you. Taking the meds doesn't just relieve the pain: it relieves your body's stress. You need to let yourself use them."

Gibbs stared at the ceiling. He was conflicted. He knew the doctor was telling the truth: even now he could feel his heart racing along, his breath coming faster. But he didn't want to start something he wouldn't be able to stop. He hated being out of control.

"Agent Gibbs, at hospital-approved levels, you will not become dependent on morphine in the next six or eight hours. It is not physiologically or psychologically possible. I promise."

Gibbs turned to look at him, not speaking. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But what if…

"You have my word I won't let it happen," Todd said quietly. "I'll order a minimum dose, a six-hour IV drip, just to suppress the pain enough to let your body rest. Then I can prescribe a skin patch called Duragesic. It provides a gradually decreasing dose of fentanyl – a synthetic narcotic – over the course of five days. The first day's dose will be enough to handle the shoulder if you don't try and use it, and the dose will decrease over time by itself. You won't have to worry about dependency, because the dose isn't high enough in the first place to cause it, and it titrates off in a prescribed manner. After that, the pain should be decreased enough to be handled by OTC analgesics."

Gibbs considered that, then: "I was never addicted."

"I know. But you felt like you were. Your physical therapist was very observant."

Gibbs had to smile at that. The man who'd helped rehabilitate his knee on his return from Kuwait was an amputee from the Vietnam War, and he'd put to shame most of the drill sergeants Gibbs had ever met. Yet he was caring, and compassionate. When Gibbs needed a kick in the ass, he was there. But when he needed someone to just sit silently with him, he'd been there too. The man had sensed the emotional torment Gibbs had been wallowing in, though they'd never spoken of the reason for it. He must have noticed more than Gibbs thought.

"Dr. Bailey said an IV drip would mean I'd have to be admitted," Gibbs said.

"I can authorize it without admission. We like to admit patients who are going to be on narcotic drips for exactly the reason you don't want one: to watch for signs of dependence and other side-effects. This will be very short-term, and we already know you don't have a bad reaction to it."

Gibbs took a breath. The pain was climbing, rapidly. He wanted it gone.

"Alright. Six hours."

"Done." Todd stood and reached for the chart. He flipped it open and made a note. When he was finished, he returned to the bedside. He put a hand on Gibbs' good shoulder and squeezed gently.

"It's going to be alright. I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Gibbs said.

"I'd expect nothing less."

* * *

Jenny and Ziva spent the night parked down the block from a two-storey Victorian in Woodbridge, Virginia. They'd circled the block once when they first arrived, saw the black Suburban in the carport, and noted the plate number. The lights had already been off in the house, and there was no activity from within that they could see. When 1 a.m. came and went and there was still nothing from the house, Jenny figured it was safe enough to do some recon. She called down to NCIS and had one of the night crew bring down a GPS tracker. Ziva snuck onto the property around 2:00 and affixed the transmitter behind the rear bumper. There was no base pass on the windshield, eliminating the possibility that the vehicle belonged to an active-duty or reserve Marine. No parking passes or other decals were on the truck to give them a hint of where he might work. The two women sat on the house, one sleeping and one watching, alternating every two hours, for the rest of the night. Other than the call from Tony around 4:00, all was quiet.

At 5:30, lights came on in a second-floor window. Through the closed curtains of a room toward the back of the house, they saw a shadow moving. Lights came on and were turned off in several rooms on the second floor over the next hour. When the front door finally opened at 6:45, a large man with a military haircut wearing some type of blue uniform pants and a bomber jacket stepped out, a gym bag over one shoulder. He carefully locked the door, picked the paper off the porch, and walked to the SUV. Jenny watched him through the binoculars while Ziva took photographs. A quick comparison of the digital photos to the sketch from Abby told them there was a good chance this was their guy.

They watched as he got in the truck and backed it down the drive, then moved to follow at a safe distance. Jenny was driving, Ziva monitoring the tracking screen that showed the transmitter was functioning properly. They could afford to let the truck out of their sight, making tailing it much easier.

They followed the SUV through work-day morning traffic down the I-95. When he took the first Quantico Base exit, they exchanged looks: This would be so much easier if the guy was actually a Marine. But he bypassed the Base turnoff and headed west. He made a stop at a Starbucks drive-thru. Another 10 miles and he turned off at Manassas Regional Airport. They tracked the SUV's route past the public entrance to a pass gate. Jenny drove past the gate while Ziva scanned the tarmac through binoculars. No sign of the SUV among the multiple small warehouse and hangar buildings.

"Well, at least we know where he works," Ziva commented. "We will have to see if Abby can identify him. If she says yes, we show his picture around the airport, find out his name, and we have him."

"If McGee comes up with probable cause," Jenny said.

"He will," Ziva said. Jenny started away from the airport entrance.

"Oh?" Jenny said. "And you're sure of this?"

"Of course," Ziva answered.

"How can you be sure?" Jenny asked.

"Because it is for Abby," Ziva said. Jenny nodded her understanding. Of course. Tim McGee's loyalty to Abby was second only to his loyalty to Gibbs. He would do whatever was necessary to be sure her attacker was caught.

They headed back to McGee's house, grabbing breakfast on the way. They parked in front of the house and knocked on the front door. When McGee opened the door several minutes later, he had his gun in his hand and looked like he'd just woken up.

"Good morning, McGee," Ziva said as she entered. "We brought food." She held up the paper sacks.

"Great." He led them through into the kitchen. Across the rail separating the kitchen from the den, they could see Abby was curled up in the easy chair in front of the computers, asleep.

"Has she been there all night?" Jenny asked quietly. McGee set the safety on his weapon and put it on the counter.

"She woke up around 3:00 and came out. We worked on the address for a couple hours before she fell asleep again." He took out dishes while Ziva opened up the bags and started divvying up the food. She made sure to set some aside for Abby.

"How is she feeling?" Ziva asked.

"She's taking the pain killers the doctor prescribed, and she seems to be okay," McGee said. "She's worried about Tony and Gibbs, though."

"Have you heard from them this morning?" Jenny asked.

"Tony called when Gibbs woke up. That was around 4:00. Nothing since then."

"He called us, too. Have you found anything on that address yet?" Jenny asked.

"Still working on it. Or I was, before I fell asleep." He shrugged. "I'll get back to it when we finish eating." He took a bite of breakfast burrito. "What'd you find?" he asked as he swallowed.

"We followed the driver of the SUV out of the house this morning," Jenny said. "It's registered to the homeowner. Driver could be the one in Abby's sketch. We took some pictures. When she wakes up, we'll see if she can identify him."

"Where'd you follow him to?" McGee asked.

"Manassas Regional Airport. Looks like he works there."

"That's great!" McGee said, suddenly excited. When they looked at him curiously, he put his burrito down and continued. "If he's an airport employee, he's registered with Homeland Security. Their database is open to federal agencies. I can use it to find an address, maybe even match the email address."

"But what led us to know he was an airport employee? We've still got a poison tree problem on the original information," Jenny said.

"Poison tree?" Ziva asked.

"Fruit of the poison tree," Jenny explained. "If the address was obtained illegally, everything we found because of the address is inadmissible in court. The source – the tree – was tainted, so everything that flows out of it – the fruit – is poisonous."

"This is a strange country," Ziva said. "If the evidence leads us to the man Abby identifies as her attacker, why does it matter how we found him? He's the one, right?"

"It's a Fourth Amendment thing," McGee said. "And I'm working on it. Having a name will help."

"What about the fingerprints?" Jenny asked.

"What fingerprints?" McGee asked.

"I read Gibbs' report last night. There were several unidentified fingerprints at Abby's house. Can't you run them against airport employees?"

McGee shook his head. "If they were his, and if he works at the airport, Lt. Hanson would have already found the match. Airport staff are in AFIS."

In the den, Abby stirred and let out a small moan. McGee was instantly on his feet.

"Hey Abby, good morning," McGee said when he got to her. "How you doing?"

"Okay," Abby said. "How long was I asleep?"

"A little while. Director Shepard and Ziva are here. They brought breakfast." She turned in the chair and stretched a little before trying to sit up. She paled and bit back a cry.

"Let me help," McGee said. He pushed down the foot rest on the easy chair and helped her to stand. She stood almost upright, still using the teddy bear as a splint against her ribs. With McGee supporting her, she shuffled up the few steps into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Abby," Jenny said.

"Good morning, Director. Hi Ziva," she said. McGee helped her into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Have you heard from the hospital?" Abby asked when she was seated.

"Not since Tony called to say Gibbs was awake. Tony was released and said he was going home. Gibbs has to stay for the rest of the day," Jenny said.

"I want to go see him," Abby said.

"I know," Jenny said. "And we'll get you down there if we can. For now, you're safer here."

Abby gave a small sigh. "Okay."

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances. They hadn't expected her to give in so easy.

"There's breakfast," McGee offered.

"I'm not hungry," she said. "Maybe some milk?"

"Sure," McGee said. He got her a glass. "It's time for more medicine anyway, Abby," he said and handed her the bottle. She opened it herself and shook out one of the pills. She tossed it back with a couple swallows of milk.

"Abby, Ziva and I took some pictures this morning of a man who might be who we're looking for. Can you take a look for us?" Jenny asked.

"Sure." Ziva worked the camera for a minute until the first picture appeared on the view screen, then handed it to Abby. She glanced at it, looking up almost immediately.

"Yes, that's him. Where'd you find him?" Abby asked.

"Are you sure, Abby?" Jenny asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. Where'd you find him? Is that what you were doing last night?"

"We found him at the house where he lives in Woodbridge, Virginia, and we followed him to Manassas Regional Airport, where we think he works."

"So he's not really a Marine?" Abby asked.

"No," Jenny said. "He lied about that."

"I guess that's good," Abby said. Her voice was rough, as if she was having a hard time speaking. "Gibbs will be glad, anyway."

No one spoke for a moment. Then Jenny picked it up. "He was lying to you about everything, Abby. But now we know the truth about where he lives, and where he works. We just need probable cause to find out his real name and we can put him in jail where he'll never hurt you or anyone else again." She turned to McGee. "We need that information."

"Yes ma'am," McGee said.

"If I know Gibbs as well as I think I do, he's going to want to work this as soon as he's out of the hospital, and it would be really good if this man was already in custody when Gibbs is released this afternoon. Do you understand?" Jenny asked.

"Yes ma'am," McGee repeated. A ringing cell interrupted them.

"It's me," Jenny said as they all reached for pockets. She took hers out, identified herself, and listened for a minute. "Sure, put her through, Cynthia." She stood up from the table and walked into the den.

"How could I not know that he was lying to me?" Abby asked them.

"Some people are very good liars, Abby," Ziva said. "I have been fooled before."

"But he said he loved me. We… I loved him." She sounded lost.

"Abby, it's not your fault," McGee said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have known," Abby said. "I mean, geez, I've studied this. I've worked at NCIS for almost ten years. I should know when people are lying."

"You are not to blame," Ziva said. "Something is wrong with him that he would lie like that. You are the innocent victim here."

Jenny came back into the kitchen.

"That was Lt. Col. Mann. She's at the hospital with Gibbs. He's doing alright. The doctor's still planning on releasing him this afternoon."

"Why's he been there so long?" Abby asked.

"He got more of the drug than Tony did, Abby." McGee jumped in before either of the women could speak. "And he's older. So it's taking a little longer."

"But he's awake now, and he's going to be fine," Jenny reassured.

"Can I at least talk to him on the phone?" she asked. "I'm really worried about him."

"I'll see what we can arrange," Jenny said. "He can't use his cell in the trauma room, but maybe I can have one of the nurses bring him a phone. I'll do my best, okay?"

Abby nodded.

"Good. Well, I have an agency to run. McGee, call when you find something. Otherwise, I'll check in with you later. Ziva, why don't you go home and get some sleep. You're probably going to need to be in on the arrest if we make one."

"Good idea." She and Jenny carried their dishes to the sink and headed out. McGee followed them to the foyer.

"Lt. Col. Mann says he's still in a lot of pain," Jenny told them quietly when they reached the entryway. "He's apparently not taking his pain meds. I don't think having Abby down there is a good idea. I'll try and arrange a call as soon as possible, calm her a little."

"Okay. I'll keep her occupied." McGee swallowed a yawn.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Jenny asked.

"I'll set the alarm. You said you followed him to work, and he doesn't know where I live. We'll be fine," McGee said.

"Okay. I'll be in touch."

* * *

to be continued...

Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	18. Chapter 18

**Lying Eyes Part 18**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs was glad, after the drug kicked in, that he'd allowed Cpt. Gelfand to talk him into it. His breathing was much easier, the pain in his chest present but more like a chronic ache than a stabbing pain. His shoulder was fine, as long as he didn't try to move his arm. He'd done that, about half an hour after the IV drip started, and immediately wished he hadn't. But overall, he was feeling better than he had since waking from the coma.

When Hollis returned from calling Jenny, Gibbs was both pleased and pissed at the news. Pleased that they finally knew where the guy lived and worked. Pissed that he was stuck here and Jenny was running his case. Pleased that Abby's attacker had been identified. Pissed that they still didn't have enough to pick him up.

Hollis found his belongings in a bag under the gurney and gave him his watch, which she put on his right wrist where he'd be able to raise his hand to look at it. He felt better at least having that much information to work with. His cell, wallet, badge and gun weren't there, she reported, and he wondered where they'd gone. Hollis told him Jenny had been there overnight and probably had them. She also told him he was going to need clothes to go home in: the medics had cut his shirt and pants. At least they hadn't ruined his overcoat or suit jacket.

Ducky stopped by on his way to work. He was pleased to see Gibbs doing so well, and warned him about trying to come back to work too soon. The ME knew his words were wasted; Jethro would come back to work when he decided he was ready, doctor's permission or not.

Gibbs sent Hollis home just after 9:30. She argued, but he insisted. He was out of danger, was feeling better, and while he enjoyed her company, didn't she need to get to work? She reluctantly left with a promise to return later in the afternoon, and bring him some clothes.

The young corpsman came in just before 10:00. She was holding a Navy-issue cell phone.

"There's a phone call for you, Gunnery Sergeant," she said and held out the phone. He took it. She withdrew.

"Gibbs," he said.

"Gibbs! Are you alright?"

"Abby!" he said with a smile. "I'm fine. How're you doing?"

"I'm at McGee's house," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "That's pretty weird, considering."

"You're safe there, that's all that matters. You hurting?" he asked.

"Some. I'm taking good drugs, though. Director Shepard said you were doing okay. Is that true?"

"I'm fine, Abby. Really. Doctor's being over protective. What did they tell you?" He wanted to take a read on what she knew before he gave her any details.

"McGee said you were drugged, worse than Tony, and you were in a coma all night, on a ventilator. I'm really sorry, Gibbs."

"What for?" he asked.

"For getting you into this. I knew Vic would go after you. I never should have…"

"Abby, stop," Gibbs said sharply. Or as sharply as he ever spoke to her. "You did not do this."

"But Gibbs, if I hadn't…"

"Abby. You are the victim here. Nothing you did caused any of this to happen." He took a breath. "You remember after Mawher, when you spent the night at my house?"

"Yeah. I got drunk."

Gibbs chuckled a little, stifling a groan at the increase in the ache. "Yes, you did. And you broke my boat."

She giggled. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Easy fix. Do you remember what you told me that night? About whether or not it was your fault?" There was a pause.

"Sort of. I remember you did some reverse psychology thing on me. I told you it wasn't my fault. He was a lunatic, and it was his fault."

"That's right. And it's DeLaCruz's fault this time. Not yours. All of this is his fault."

"But this is the second time I let this happen to me. Shouldn't I have known better this time? Seen the signs or something? I mean, I should have learned something from Mikel, shouldn't I?"

Gibbs couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was exactly what Hollis had predicted she would say.

"No, Abs," Gibbs said. "This guy lied to you at every turn. He worked his way into your heart, and when you sensed the danger and tried to break it off, he beat you and threatened to kill me. You did nothing wrong, except maybe not telling me sooner. He's the bastard, Abby."

There was a pause. "So, you're not disappointed?" Abby asked, her voice low.

"God no, Abby. Of course not." Gibbs felt a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. "You've given me no reason to be disappointed in you. I am proud of you, for doing what you did, thinking you were protecting me. I could not ask for a more loyal friend."

Another pause, a sniff, then "Aw, Gibbs… That's the sweetest thing…"

"It's true, Abby," Gibbs said. "Would I lie to you?"

She ignored that. "You're really okay?" Abby asked.

"Yes. Promise. I hurt my shoulder, but it'll heal. Doctor's going to let me go this afternoon, and I'll come see you. Okay?"

"Okay. What about Tony?"

"I sent him home earlier," Gibbs answered. "He's probably still sleeping."

"But he's okay too?" Abby asked.

"He's fine. When he left here, he was walking under his own steam, making as much sense as he ever does."

"You shouldn't be so mean to him, Gibbs. He works hard for you."

"I know. And I appreciate it, too. But if you ever repeat that, I'll deny it."

She giggled again. "Okay. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Count on it." She hung up first, and he closed the phone. He held it against his forehead for a moment, eyes closed, thinking. Hollis had been right.

He opened the phone again and called Jenny's cell. He got a repeat of the update Hollis had given him. He extracted a promise that she would call him at the hospital before moving on DeLaCruz, or whatever his name was, if McGee found what they needed. But she refused to promise to wait until he was released. It was the best he could get, as much as it rankled him.

Then he called McGee's cell. They went over what he'd done so far. It meant little to Gibbs except that McGee was trying. That's all Gibbs needed to know. He made McGee promise to call him before he called the Director if he found something. Gibbs was still stuck in the hospital, but at least he felt like he was part of it again.

His final call was to Lt. Hanson in Abby's lab. Hollis had mentioned during her update that Jenny sent their blood for testing, and he wanted to know what exactly they were up against. Lt. Hanson confirmed the presence of GHB in both his and Tony's blood, adding that the concentration in Gibbs' blood had been slightly higher than what she found in Natalie Pharris'. At the end of the conversation, she hesitantly gave him the bad news: the formulation of GHB she'd found in their blood did not match what was used on the rape victims. When left Gibbs surprised and once again pissed. There was no way this was a coincidence. He refused to believe it. It had to be the same guy, using a different formulation.

The corpsman returned, and Gibbs gave her back the phone with his thanks. She left and he used the control panel to lay the bed back so he was almost flat again and closed his eyes. He would need to sleep if he was going to work when he got out this afternoon. And make no mistake: he would work. Now that they had solid information on Abby's attacker, it was only a matter of time before McGee got them probable cause and they brought him in. Then, Gibbs would make sure the man understood what a mistake he had made.

* * *

As promised, the morphine drip was pulled mid-afternoon, replaced by a three-inch by two-inch plastic patch that looked a lot like a big band-aid, which the nurse stuck to his lower right flank, just above his hip bone. Gibbs had slept most of the day, woken only by lunch, which he managed to eat a little of. His stomach was still uneasy. When neither Jenny nor McGee had called for him by 2:30, he asked for the phone and called Jenny himself. She confirmed that as of an hour before, McGee had not yet found what they needed. He thought about calling McGee to confirm, but he knew the young agent would call as promised when he had something and decided not to bug him.

Hollis returned just after 3:00 with clothes and his shaving kit from home. She had managed a shower and few hours sleep in her own bed and felt a lot better for it. Gibbs, too, felt pretty good. The low-dose morphine had allowed him to sleep deeply and comfortably. He was rested, wide awake, and chomping at the bit to get out of here. As the last of the morphine faded, Gibbs felt an increase in the ache in his chest, but it stayed at a level that was tolerable. Actually tolerable, he assured Todd when the doctor returned to see how it was going. Gibbs could feel the pain, but it wasn't the center of his attention.

Just before 4:00, a little less than 24 hours after his arrival, Dr. Bailey returned. She had him stand up to prove he could, and walk a few steps. He was a little shaky at first, but quickly gained his balance. He cradled his left arm against his chest to keep his shoulder still, and it wasn't bad. Dr. Bailey let him sit back on the side of the bed and after reviewing his chart, signed off on his discharge. She gave him prescriptions for a twice-daily anti-inflammatory and an oral pain med that could be taken in addition to the patch as needed.

"The patch is likely to make you drowsy, maybe even a little light headed or nauseous," Dr. Bailey said. "But don't take it off. It needs to stay against your skin the entire time or the titration won't work. In a couple days, you might feel like you don't need it anymore, but that just means it's doing its job. The quantity of drug you're getting will decrease at a steady rate, hopefully in the same proportion as the pain. The oral meds can be taken every four to six hours as needed if the patch alone isn't enough. Dr. Gelfand prescribed you a fairly low dose of Fentanyl, so don't be surprised if you need them.

"If the pain does break through and you have to take the oral meds, it's best to keep taking them on schedule for at least 24 hours. Keeping a minimum amount of the medication in your system at all times will work better than only taking them when the pain breaks through. Then, after 24 hours, take a break and see if you still need them. You understand?"

When Gibbs nodded, she continued. "No driving while the patch is in place, and you'll need to be careful doing anything else that requires sharp reflexes."

"So no working?" Hollis asked.

"No. See your doctor in a week. Until he clears you, no working." Gibbs gave her a look that clearly showed what he thought of that.

"Oh, and don't worry about telling your Director. I already faxed the work restriction order to her office and to Navy Medical." The look turned to a glare, and she smiled at him.

"Sorry, Gunny. But it's for the best. I'm also going to put you in a shoulder immobilizer for about a week. You can take it off as needed, and as soon as you want to. But I'm pretty sure you'll find it helps. Any questions?"

"Nope," Gibbs replied.

"Very good. I'll send the nurse in to pull your IV lines and set you up with the immobilizer and then you can go."

Gibbs nodded, and Hollis thanked her. She headed out.

After the nurse removed the IVs and monitors, Hollis helped him get cleaned up in the nearby oversized disabled restroom. He really wanted a shower – he hadn't had one since his middle-of-the-night wash two nights ago and he'd been sweating like a horse – but that would have to wait until he got home. So with Hollis hovering, he did a perfunctory wash at the sink and brushed his teeth. He stood for a moment looking at his bare chest in the mirror. His sternum was a Technicolor nightmare from an inch below the notch at the base of his throat down to four inches below his nipple line. He could actually see the imprint of knuckles in several places. The guy had saved his life, but had certainly done a number on him in the process. No wonder it hurt. He sighed a little and met Hollis' eyes in the mirror. She reached around his right side with one hand and lightly traced the edges of the bruising, then kissed the side of his neck.

She dug into his shaving kit and handed him his comb. He raised his good arm and felt pain shoot across his chest toward his left side. He groaned, staggering slightly, and grabbed the edge of the sink for balance, dropping the comb. Without comment, Hollis picked it up and finished the job for him. When she was done, she silently held up his shaver, and he shook his head. He had a thick growth of stubble on his chin, and it was going to require a real razor to get rid of it at this point.

With a little help from Hollis, he dressed in a pair of well-worn loose jeans and a pale blue button-up shirt he'd bought in Mexico. He was glad she'd thought of it: he wasn't sure how he was going to put anything on over his head for awhile.

Next came the immobilizer. The nurse showed him how to put it on. It consisted of a wide band of foam cloth that first wrapped around the lower third of his rib cage then around his bicep just above his elbow, securing his arm to his side with Velcro. A wrist cuff Velcroed to the chest band was attached to a strap that went over his good shoulder, supporting his forearm. The whole thing made him feel a bit silly, but he couldn't argue that once it was in place, the tension in his shoulder was significantly decreased, since he was no longer bracing it himself. A few adjustments for comfort and he figured he could live with it.

When the young corpsman returned with a wheelchair, Gibbs put his foot down. He did not need a wheelchair, he was fine. There was a brief argument and a call for Dr. Bailey to return, but since she'd already agreed he was free to go, Gibbs ended it by walking away. With a 'good luck' to Hollis, the doctor let him go.

Hollis quickly caught up to him, carrying the bag with his old clothes and the discharge instructions. She led him to where her SUV was parked outside emergency and helped him arrange himself in the passenger seat. She could see he was sweating again. The walk from the ER certainly hadn't done him any good. But she said nothing.

"So, where to?" Hollis asked once she was behind the wheel and they were headed away from the hospital.

"Coffee, then McGee's house," he said. "I need to see Abby."

Knowing there wasn't a chance in hell that she'd be able to convince him to just go home, Hollis headed for the nearest coffee stop. For the next couple of days she was going to have to pick her battles. She noticed Gibbs was watching the rearview. Looking for tails, she supposed.

"I need to call DiNozzo," Gibbs announced a minute later. Without taking her eyes off the road, Hollis dug into her bag, sitting between their seats. She pulled out his cell and handed it to him, then produced his wallet and ID folder.

"I stopped in at NCIS on the way here. Director Shepard had them," she said by way of explanation as he took them from her hand. She glanced over at him and noted with some satisfaction the surprised look on his face.

"Is my Sig in there somewhere too?" he asked.

"No. Director Shepard figured you wouldn't be needing a weapon for a couple days. It's in her office when you're ready to get back to work."

"I'm ready now," he said.

"I know," Hollis said, and reserved further comment. He put the wallet in his right back pocket, the ID folder in his front pocket, and opened his cell. He hit the speed dial for DiNozzo.

"Where are you?" he asked when Tony picked up.

"McGee's. Where are you?" DiNozzo asked.

"Just released. I'll be there in a few," he said.

"Shouldn't you be going home, Boss?" Gibbs hung up. Hollis was turning into the coffee drive-thru. She ordered him an extra-large Jamaican blend, black, and got herself a medium regular. When she handed him the coffee, he held the cup in front of his face and took a moment to just inhale the scent of the rich brew. It had been a long time since he'd gone 24 hours without coffee. He took a sip and held the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Nice. There was a small sound from next to him and he looked over to find Hollis trying hard not to laugh.

"You two want to get a room?" she asked with a grin.

"Just drive," he growled, and took another sip.

"Where?" Hollis laughed. Gibbs gave her the directions to McGee's.

"You want to stop by the pharmacy first, get the prescriptions filled?"

"Can you do that after you drop me off?" he asked.

"I wasn't planning on leaving you there," Hollis said. "I've called off for tomorrow. You can consider me driver and 'beck and call girl' for the next couple of days."

"I'll be fine," Gibbs said.

Hollis sighed. "I'm sure you will, Jethro, and I know you don't need me," she said. "But did it ever occur to you that I might need to fuss over you? So just let me, okay?" She glanced at him. He was frowning slightly, but he nodded and sipped more coffee.

A few miles later, he spoke again. "Thanks," he said. She felt like shouting with joy, but she just nodded.

"You're welcome."

* * *

To Be Continued... Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	19. Chapter 19

**Lying Eyes Part 19**

**By joykatleen**

* * *

They made the pharmacy stop. Hollis went in, leaving Gibbs in the truck. He laid the seat back a little and closed his eyes. The coffee was good, and his stomach seemed to be handling it fairly well. He felt only slightly nauseous. Not nearly uncomfortable enough to stop drinking it. His chest was a dull throbbing ache. Nothing he couldn't live with. The shoulder was still tolerable, if he didn't move it. But every bump the truck hit sent echoes through the muscles that made him wonder if maybe he shouldn't just go home and lay down. Still, the need to put his own eyes on Abby – not to mention get back in charge of the investigation – was stronger than the pain. He would be fine.

With his eyes still closed and his mind turned inward, Gibbs didn't see Hollis returning, and her unexpected opening of the drivers' door 20 minutes later made him jump. His hand moved a few inches toward the gun that wasn't on his belt before he realized what had startled him and he relaxed.

"Bit jumpy?" Hollis said with a smile in her voice if not on her face. Gibbs ignored her. Truth was, he was feeling a bit unsettled, and it wasn't just his stomach. He thought it was probably a combination of the circumstances, the drugs, and being weaponless while a lunatic wanted to kill him.

They arrived at McGee's house just before 5:00. Tony's Mustang was parked in the driveway. Hollis pulled her SUV in beside it. She got out in time to see Gibbs stagger slightly as he stepped away from the truck. He put his good hand on the roof while he stabilized.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he muttered. She waited for him to come around the truck, then walked next to him up to the house. He banged on the door and they waited. A minute later, Tony opened the door, gun held down and behind his thigh.

"Hey Boss, come on in," Tony said. "Lt. Col. Mann." He stepped aside to let them in. He glanced up and down the street, then closed and locked the door behind them.

"Gibbs!" Abby saw them enter the den. She got a good look at him and her eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Abs." She was sitting in an easy chair facing the computers where McGee was working. She was wearing a set of oversize gray sweats with FLETC – the training academy that NCIS used for its new recruits – stenciled across the chest and down one leg. Must be McGee's. Her hair had been tied into two braids originating low on her head, down near her neckline. Together with the too-large clothing and her lack of makeup, she looked like a little girl. The bruise on her cheek had darkened further, appearing almost black now. Hopefully, it was as bad as it was going to get. He leaned down as she reached both arms up to hug him. "Gently," he cautioned and accepted the hug. He barely felt her arm on his injured side.

"You're feeling better," he said as he straightened. He felt a head rush and closed his eyes briefly. DiNozzo was there, behind him, a steadying hand on his good elbow.

"A little. My shoulder doesn't hardly hurt at all," she said. Gibbs shrugged off DiNozzo's hand.

"And the rest of you?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Doctor gave me good drugs," she said.

"Good." He smiled and turned back to the room.

"DiNozzo? Did you get any rest?"

"All day, Boss," DiNozzo reported. "Shouldn't you be at home?"

"You find anything yet, McGee?" Gibbs asked, not bothering to answer DiNozzo's question this time, either. He heard Tony sigh almost silently as he retreated to the kitchen, but ignored him. Hollis sat on the couch across from the computers.

"Lots of stuff, but not what you're looking for, Boss," McGee said from over his shoulder. He had glanced up as Gibbs arrived, but returned almost immediately to work. Gibbs noticed he was wearing his holstered gun, as was DiNozzo.

"Meaning what?" Gibbs asked. He moved over to stand behind McGee's chair. The young agent was scanning text as it rapidly flashed across the screen, face inches from the monitor.

"No probable cause yet, but I've got his name."

Abby jumped in. "His real name is Richard Wilson. He is a helicopter mechanic, but for a private charter service. He lives in Woodbridge. He was never in the Marines. He lied about everything."

"That's because he's a bastard, Abby," Gibbs said without turning. "He wanted something from you, so he told you what he thought would impress you. It's what bastards do."

Hollis rolled her eyes at his blunt assessment of the man Abby once thought she'd loved. "There's no way you could have known, Abby," she said.

"I know, but…"

"No buts," Gibbs did turn to her this time. "It doesn't say anything about you."

Abby fell silent. She was clutching the bear to her injured rib again. The bear was beginning to show signs of terminal flatness.

McGee tapped some keys and the text on his screen first paused, then disappeared to be replaced by several reports, an ID photo and a copy of a Virginia driver's license.

"Ziva and Director Shepard followed the black SUV from the address I got from AOL to the employee entrance at Manassas Regional Airport. Abby ID'd the driver from the pictures they took as the man she knew as Victor DeLaCruz. I ran the pictures against Homeland Security IDs for Manassas Airport Employees, and came up with this." An airport ID photo moved to the center of the screen.

There he was, the dirtbag who'd done this to all of them. He did look like a Marine, Gibbs thought, but there was something about the expression on his face that raised the hair on the back of his neck. Gibbs leaned in to get a better look just as McGee turned his chair slightly toward the room, and Gibbs smacked his left forearm hard against the tall back of McGee's chair. He felt the shock echo up his arm and into his injured shoulder like a punch and his knees suddenly weakened. He grabbed the back of the chair with his good hand, taking a half step backward with one foot to keep himself from falling. He felt his stomach flip and his vision gray out.

"Oh God, Gibbs, I'm sorry," Gibbs heard McGee say from down a long tunnel.

"Boss?" DiNozzo was right behind him, and again Gibbs felt Tony's hand there to support him. Gibbs swallowed the nausea, forced himself upright and turned to glare at Tony as his vision cleared.

"Stop hovering!" he demanded, and DiNozzo put up one hand in an appeasing gesture. In the other, he held a large mug of coffee, which he saw Gibbs notice and held out. "Coffee?" he offered nonchalantly. Gibbs took it, a little concerned at how his hand was shaking. He brought the cup to his mouth, using the motion as cover while he took a few breaths and waited for the pain to subside and his head to stop spinning. He could see Hollis out of the corner of his eye, and he spared her a look. She was worried.

"It's fine," he said, to her and to the rest of the room. The pain slowly faded, his head cleared, and he took another breath before speaking. "Tell me." He stepped back out of range of the chair. McGee cast a concerned glanced at Tony, then turned back to the computers.

"Richard Victor Wilson, DOB 11-9-73, 34 years old. Born in Brooklyn, graduate of Grant High in New York, 1990. Got a private pilots' license same year. Applied to the Marines on graduation, put on one year deferral. Apparently due to poor recommendations from his high school teachers. Numerous notations in his school records about suspensions for fighting and quote 'other inappropriate behavior' end quote. Reapplied in 91 and 92, failed the psych both times. After the third rejection, he was put on a do-not-consider list, so when he showed up at the recruiting station again in 93, he was rejected on the spot."

"Think he would have gotten the message before then, tried the Army or something," Gibbs said, and Hollis grunted at the cheap barb. He gave her a half-smile and drank more coffee.

"He went to Community College of Brooklyn, took a two-year aviation mechanic program, which took him three years to finish. Average marks, nothing noteworthy in his file. Worked as an apprentice mechanic for three years for a private charter service out of JFK before getting his journeyman license along with his rotorcraft license in 1997. Applied to the NYPD aviation division as a pilot in 1998, rejected due to lack of flight hours. Hired by them as a mechanic and enrolled in the pilot's apprentice program, released during probation, no explanation given. He applied to New York State Troopers aviation division, was not hired. Spent another two years as a private mechanic at JFK, then moved to Virginia to work at Dulles in 2000. He was fired from Dulles after 9/11 because he didn't meet the new Homeland Security requirements for employees of international airports," McGee continued.

Gibbs interrupted. "Why not?"

"Criminal record," McGee said, and switched views on the screen. "One conviction for domestic battery in January, 2001." Behind them, Abby groaned softly.

"Got probation, but the recent conviction made him ineligible for security clearance. So he went to work for a small commuter service out of Manassas in February 2003, and still works there."

"Anything else on his record?" Gibbs asked. He looked around for somewhere to sit. Despite the pain's retreat, he still felt a little weak in the knees. Seeing no other chairs in the den, he chose the couch next to Hollis and carefully took a seat on the edge.

"Four arrests for drunk and disorderly over the last six years, most recent in 2005, no charges filed. Arrests for domestic assault in 2003 and 2005. Both had charges dropped due to lack of cooperation from complaining witnesses. Clean driving record, no outstanding parking tickets. Virginia DMV has him at the same post office box address since 2000, no physical address. Homeland Security's got him at an address in Dale City at his last security update, 2005."

"What about the house in Woodbridge?" Gibbs asked. McGee tapped keys and the image changed again, to another drivers' license. He made it as large as he could, so Gibbs could see it without getting up.

"Owned by a Devin Jennings. He's also the registered owner of the SUV Wilson was driving. The utilities are all in his name, including the only phone ligoing into the house. Safe to say they must both live there. DOB 10-6-1945. No criminal record, no military service, doesn't work for any state or federal government agency, clean driving record, not in AFIS or on any of our other databases. Not involved in aviation in any way I've been able to find, didn't go to any of the schools Wilson went to. I haven't been able to find a connection between them other than that Wilson apparently lives there."

"And none of this gets us probable cause to pick him up because it all came out of the email address you found after you hacked into the FBI mainframe?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," McGee said and he turned in his chair to look at Gibbs. "I thought I could back-trace it, but I haven't found any legal way to get any of it yet."

Gibbs scratched at his jaw, thinking. Then it hit him.

"If you could put a name with Abby's sketch, you've have what we need, right?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," McGee answered.

"And we've only got to get a match that technically could have come before you learned any of the rest of it, right?"

"Yes," McGee said cautiously. He thought Gibbs was going somewhere with this, but he was pretty sure he'd tried every possible connection.

"Abby, what did he tell you he did for a living?" Gibbs asked as he turned toward her.

"He said he was a Marine," Abby said.

"But what specifically did he say he did?" Gibbs asked.

"He said he was a helicopter mechanic for Marine One."

"And did you believe him? That he was a helicopter mechanic?"

"Yes. I believed it all," Abby said, an edge of frustration in her voice.

"Would you swear to it? That you believed him?" he asked.

"I suppose. Why?" she asked.

"No supposing, Abs. Would you swear, under oath, that you believed he was a helicopter mechanic?"

"Yes," Abby said.

"McGee, do you have a copy of the sketch Abby gave us?"

"Yes. I had it here to finish running it against armed forces in the Tri-State."

"Did that get you anywhere?"

"No," McGee said.

"Abby told me Wednesday that he was a helicopter mechanic. She believed him, I believed her. And now we know he's not military."

Abby suddenly brightened. "And if he's a helicopter mechanic and not military, it's reasonable to believe he works for a flight service. That means he'd have to have Homeland Security clearance, complete with photo and prints in their database."

"Which I already found once I had the information from AOL," McGee said. "How does this help?"

"Run a photo comparison scan, Probie," DiNozzo said from where he was leaning against the kitchen rail. From the smile on his face, it was clear he got it. "Forget what you already know, and let's play pretend. You run the sketch against the security clearance application photos. If you get one match, it's done. If there's more than one, we gather all the photos the computer pulls, show them to Abby, get a positive ID. You said Homeland Security's got him in Dale City, so there's no home address, but they'll have his work address. We get an exceptional circs warrant, pick him up at Manassas tomorrow."

"And when it goes to court, we don't mention you already had the information, and if it comes up, it's inevitable discovery," Abby concluded.

McGee looked at Abby, at Tony, and at Gibbs. "That could work," he said finally.

"So do it!" Gibbs said sharply, and McGee jumped to it. Gibbs smiled as he downed the last of the coffee in the mug. That was more like it.

It took a few minutes for McGee to set the scan to run. When the right-most of McGee's three monitors showed the familiar split screen of the sketch on one side and rapid run of photos on the other, McGee turned to face them.

"What now, Boss?" he asked.

"Dinner?" DiNozzo suggested hopefully. Gibbs was about to shoot him down when Abby spoke up.

"I could eat," she said.

"Me too," McGee said.

"Lt. Col. Mann?" DiNozzo asked. "Would you like some dinner?"

"Sure," Hollis agreed. Clearly outnumbered, Gibbs remained silent.

DiNozzo offered to make the food run. After he left, Gibbs sat back on the couch and watched the computer work. McGee, Abby and Hollis made small talk around him, and he let himself drift on the mixed sound of their voices and the low beeps from the computer. He turned his focus inward, trying to slow his heart down so the throbbing in his shoulder would decrease. He'd been doing fine until he knocked it against the chair. He would have to be more careful.

Thirty minutes after he left, DiNozzo returned with several large bags of Chinese take-outs. McGee helped Abby and Hollis stayed close to Gibbs as they moved into the kitchen. Tony started setting out boxes and dealing out chopsticks. Everyone dug in except Gibbs, who after taking a couple of bites just poked at it. He saw Hollis notice, but she wasn't the one who commented.

"Not hungry, Gibbs?" Abby asked.

"Not really."

"It's not good for you not to eat," she said. To make her happy, he took another bite of chow mien.

"That's better," Abby said.

He continued to poke at the food, taking an occasional bite, and listening to the chatter. He contributed very little to the conversation, but no one commented. He wasn't the most talkative person when he felt good, and he certainly didn't feel good now.

About 15 minutes after he started eating, Gibbs felt his stomach suddenly roll and bile rise in his throat. He swallowed hard and lurched to his feet.

There was a chorus of expressions of concern from everyone at the table. He clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered out of the kitchen toward the bathroom at the back of the house. He barely made it over the bowl before he threw up violently. The pain that brought to his chest was overwhelming, and his knees gave way. He hit the floor hard, scrabbling for purchase with one hand. Gibbs felt himself falling backwards, then a soft stop. Hands on his back, someone behind him, supporting him, keeping him upright.

"I got you," Tony said from close behind him. The younger man was crouched down, supporting his back, keeping him from falling any further. Gibbs wretched again, and Tony leaned him forward over the bowl. The last of the Chinese came up, and Gibbs tried to catch his breath as the pain overwhelmed again. A cold cloth wiped his mouth then the rest of his face. The toilet flushed.

"It's alright, Jethro, just breathe," Hollis said from beside him. She rested a hand on his thigh. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breath slowly. It took longer this time, but with each breath, the pain was a little less. After several minutes, he sat up, taking his weight off Tony and opening his eyes. He expected to find his entire team standing over him, but the room was empty other than Tony and Hollis, and the door was closed.

"Give me a hand up," Gibbs said. Tony helped him to his feet, holding onto his good arm until he stabilized.

"You should go home, Boss," Tony said.

"I shouldn't have eaten. I'm fine." Gibbs looked at both of them. He could see they didn't believe him.

"I appreciate the help, but if you'll excuse me, I need to use the head."

Tony frowned, but turned to pull open the door.

"You need me?" Hollis asked.

"Not for this, thanks," he said sarcastically, and she colored slightly.

"Fine." They both left, Tony shutting the door.

Gibbs leaned on the vanity for a moment, head hanging. He felt like crap. Eating had definitely been a bad idea. He turned on the water in the sink and splashed his face with one hand. He rinsed out his mouth, drank a few handfuls of water, then turned off the taps and stared at his reflection. He looked almost as bad as he felt. Gibbs couldn't tell if the circles under his eyes were really that dark, or if they just looked that way because he was so pale. He supposed he really should go home. It's not like he was any good to anyone like this, but he wanted to be there when they took down the son-of-a-bitch.

There was a knock on the door, and Gibbs gave a shallow sigh. He opened it to find McGee standing there.

"What, McGee?"

"I found him," he said. At Gibbs' frown, he elaborated. "Wilson. The computer made the match."

* * *

Gibbs and Hollis were sitting in her SUV a block away from Wilson's house in Woodbridge. From their position, they could see the front yard of the house, the end of the driveway, and the tail of the Suburban parked in front. Ziva and DiNozzo were in an agency sedan a hundred yards down in the opposite direction, watching the house and Wilson's Suburban through binoculars.

The GPS unit Ziva put on the truck's bumper had shown Wilson leaving the airport at 4:10 and coming directly to the house. It was now nearly 10:00. After McGee made the match between Abby's sketch and Wilson's ID photo – and Abby confirmed it was him – McGee had re-run all the searches he'd already done, making sure to time and date stamp each piece of information as he found it. The only thing he still couldn't come up with was a physical address, or any connection between Wilson and the man who owned both the house he was living in and the car he was driving. Without that information, they would have to wait and pick him up at work the next day. Gibbs told McGee to prepare the arrest warrant application. It was then that McGee quietly asked if he should swear out the warrant only on Abby's attack, or if he should add the other allegations as well. Which brought Gibbs back to the problem he'd been hoping to avoid altogether: how to tell Abby about the connection between Wilson and the rapes.

First, Gibbs sent DiNozzo and David to talk to as many of the rape victims and others who saw the rapist with the victims as they could contact. He wanted to see if any of them could pick Wilson out of a photo line-up. If so, it would strengthen the case for their warrant application. Even as he sent them out, Gibbs knew it was a stalling tactic, but he didn't care. When DiNozzo called back two hours later to say three of the victims and four other witnesses had picked their suspect out of the six-pack of similarly-featured men, Gibbs knew he could avoid it no longer.

It hadn't gone well. Wanting some privacy, he went with Abby to the bedroom she'd been sleeping in. They both sat on the edge of the bed, and Gibbs told her what they now knew to be true. Abby had first been surprised, then horrified, then frightened to find out that the man she'd been sleeping with, the man who'd beaten her nearly to death, was a rapist and murderer. Gibbs had sat next to her and held her while she cried. After giving her the news, he'd said little else. There wasn't much else to say.

After awhile, when her tears had dropped to an occasional hiccup, they'd gone over some details. No, she didn't think he'd ever drugged her. They'd slept together several times, but she'd been fully willing each time. She didn't recall ever waking up without remembering falling asleep. No, she he hadn't been with him any of the nights of the rapes. The first one hadn't occurred until after she'd broken up with him. That set off another round of tears and recriminations. Abby made the connection a lot faster than Gibbs had and she started blaming herself again. Maybe if she hadn't broken up with him, he wouldn't have raped those women. At that, Gibbs did talk. He used his best skills of persuasion to remind her it wasn't her fault, none of it. Still, he wasn't sure he got through to her. That was one they'd have to work on after they caught Wilson.

Ziva and DiNozzo returned and they discussed their next move. With a warrant and the element of surprise on their side, they could pick up Wilson at work any time the next day. But Gibbs had a bad feeling. Wilson had raped eight women in three weeks, and it had been almost a week since he'd last struck. Even if he'd gotten spooked after Abby's attack, the time was now ripe. The last thing Gibbs wanted was for another woman to get raped or murdered tonight, after they had proof of who Wilson was but before they picked him up. Gibbs wanted someone's eyes on the guy until they had him in custody.

Gibbs offered to let McGee out of the house for awhile, but he'd declined. He'd rather stay with Abby, if that was okay with everyone. So DiNozzo and Ziva would sit on the house overnight. They weren't to make a move on him, just watch. There was a chance that the guy had already left the house in another vehicle but at this point, they'd have to play the odds. Gibbs sent them to the house, then told Abby and McGee he was heading home.

But he didn't go home. Despite Hollis' protests, he'd asked her to go for more coffee, then joined DiNozzo and Ziva at the stakeout. He was feeling some better since getting rid of the food, and he'd taken a dose of the pain meds Dr. Gelfand had prescribed. As a result, he was in a bit of a fog, but at least the pain was muted.

Gibbs had made initial contact with DiNozzo and Ziva by cell, letting them know he was in the neighborhood. Then they'd all met at the end of the street and Ziva gave Gibbs her radio so they could stay in touch. Hollis had been strangely quiet since they'd parked. Gibbs correctly interpreted that she was upset with him, but he didn't care. So they sat in the dark, each consumed by their own thoughts, waiting.

At 10:30, there was movement. Ziva radioed to say Wilson had come out of the house. A minute later, Gibbs saw the taillights come on in the Suburban. DiNozzo and Ziva picked up the tail. Hollis followed a minute later, staying out of sight of the sedan, following Ziva's directions over the radio. The trail of vehicles left Woodbridge headed for the District. Twenty-five minutes later, Ziva reported Wilson had parked at a nightclub in Georgetown.

"Don't follow him in, he's seen you both," Gibbs said. "Cover the exits." He turned to Hollis. "I need you on this."

"What?" she asked.

"He's seen all of us, and I need eyes on him inside."

"To what end, Jethro?" she asked. She pulled into the club's parking lot.

"If he's on the hunt, I want to know. No approach. Just watch him, see if he picks up anyone." He looked over at her. By the streetlight he could see she was unsure.

"Please, Holly. Do this?" he asked.

"On one condition," she said. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning look. "When he's in for the night, you'll let me take you home."

Gibbs considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."

Hollis parked the truck. She stepped out and pulled open the rear door, grabbing a hip-length blue sweater out of the back. She pulled it on. Slamming the back door shut, she returned to the cab and dug into her bag. She produced a brush, took off the ponytail band holding her hair, then ran the brush through it. After a few strokes, she bent at the waist, brushed her hair upside down from underneath, then flipped it over and stood up. Gibbs caught his breath.

"God," he muttered. She grinned at him. Once again, she dug into her bag and took out a holstered snub-nose Glock 9mm semi-automatic. Her personal weapon. She checked it, then clipped the holster to her belt at the small of her back.

"Does it show?" she asked, and did a slow spin.

"It's fine," he said.

She took out her cell phone and hit a speed dial. A second later, Gibbs' phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and flipped it open.

"I'll keep it on," she said, and clipped the cell to her belt just behind her hip.

"Be careful," Gibbs said.

"I'll be talking to you." She grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and slammed the door. Gibbs watched her walk away. She swung her hips provocatively, then looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled.

Gibbs shook his head ruefully. What was he, sixteen? He picked up the radio.

"DiNozzo!" he called.

"It's Ziva, Gibbs, at the back door," came the response.

"Lt. Col. Mann is inside. She's got a line open to me on her cell. Stay in contact, let me know if he comes out the back."

"Got it."

"And get DiNozzo on his cell. Have him keep you posted, and tell me if he has anything."

"Will do." Gibbs put the radio in his lap, put his own cell on speaker and set it on the dash. He heard Hollis speaking to the door man. The guard wanted to wand her. She spoke to him quietly, probably showed her CID badge, and he let her in without the security check. The noise level jumped exponentially as she entered the club. There was the sound of movement, then Hollis' voice from far away.

"I've got him, Jethro. Sitting at the bar, with a beer. Alone."

For half an hour, he listened to the club's nearly deafening music over the cell phone's small speaker. Abby would have been right at home in there. Several men approached Hollis and offered her drinks, but she turned them all down. She occasionally reported on Wilson's activity: talking to women, ordering them drinks, getting turned down. Gibbs' phone was starting to beep low battery when Hollis reported that Wilson had hooked up with someone. She described the woman. The description fit their victim profile.

Fifteen minutes after that, Gibbs' cell went dead. He was actually surprised it had worked that long. He hadn't plugged it in since before he went to Abby's. He called Ziva on the radio and reported he was no longer in contact with Hollis, then sat back to wait. Impatiently, but with no option he could see.

Just before midnight, Ziva radioed to say DiNozzo reported seeing Wilson coming out the front door. He was alone. Ziva returned to the sedan, and a minute later, DiNozzo joined her and the car took off. Hollis came jogging across the parking lot.

"Did you get that?" Hollis asked.

"Cell died about half an hour ago," Gibbs said as she started the truck. He called for a location on the radio and Hollis headed that way.

"He tried maybe six different women, all of them turned him down. I think he gave up."

They again followed Ziva's directions as Wilson left Georgetown and headed back to Virginia. He made a stop at a liquor store, then returned home. DiNozzo and David drove past the house as he was walking from the driveway to the front door. Hollis pulled over halfway up the block before reaching the house.

A minute passed, and the sedan came up the street from behind them.

"What now, Boss?" DiNozzo asked when he reached the passenger side of the SUV. Ziva stayed in the car to monitor the GPS unit.

"Stay on him the rest of the night. Follow him to work, be sure he gets there. Call me when he arrives."

"Where you gonna be?" DiNozzo asked. Gibbs opened his mouth to answer, and heard Hollis clear her throat. He glanced over at her and nodded.

"I'll be at home. Call me if he goes out again."

"Sure thing, Boss." He returned to the sedan and it pulled away. Hollis made a u-turn and headed out of the neighborhood.

* * *

to be continued...

Feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	20. Chapter 20

**Lying Eyes Part 20**

**by joykatleen**

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* * *

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When they got back to Gibbs' house, he immediately headed for the shower. Hollis joined him a few minutes later. She was there, she said, to help clean the parts he couldn't reach without the use of his arm. He knew otherwise. It had been a close call yesterday, and he could feel her need to be sure he was really okay. They kissed, and he petted her a little, but he had too many narcotics on board to respond to her return attention. When she pronounced him clean, she helped him dry off and put the immobilizer back on. He stepped into a pair of old workout shorts and lay out on his bed. A moment later he was surprised – and not at all sure of how he felt – when she emerged from his closet with pajamas. Her pajamas.

"I stashed some clothes here this afternoon when I picked up yours," she said casually. "Doesn't make sense for me to keep having to go home this weekend." He said nothing, just nodded at her. He'd have to decide what he thought about that another time.

After donning the pajamas, Hollis joined him in bed. She laid out on her side facing him, one hand under her head, the other tracing patterns on his stomach with her fingers, unerringly finding his old battle scars. He'd told her the stories that went with the scars before, but she often asked him to tell them again, when they were alone together. She never tired of hearing him talk, even when the tales he told were reruns.

Hollis fell asleep quickly but Gibbs couldn't settle. Some of it was the gradually building pain in his shoulder. But most of it was his brain, which refused to turn off. The bedside clock read 3:17 when he finally got tired of staring at the ceiling and sat up. He went to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. While it brewed, he took two of the pain pills with water. They'd made his brain a little fuzzy earlier. Maybe they'd help now. They certainly couldn't hurt.

He poured a mug of coffee. Shoving his feet into his sneakers, Gibbs descended the basement stairs. He turned on the work lights over the boat and considered it. He was working on the wheelhouse, that part of the boat's deck that covered the cabin. It would be a simple saloon, with bed space for two people, a tiny galley, and a room for a self-contained portable head. The wheelhouse had windows all the way around, which would let in plenty of light. He'd begun this part of the project six months ago, but had so far only framed it. The majority of the sanding was still to be done. That would at least give his brain a rest.

Gibbs set his coffee on the workbench and picked up a sanding block. It would be easier with two hands, but not impossible with one. He laid the block on the top curve of wood and pushed it slowly away from himself. He wasn't applying nearly as much pressure as he normally would, and already he could feel the strain the motion was putting on his bruised chest. Gibbs tried a few more runs across the wood, and stopped. It was too soon.

"Damn it!" he grunted and threw the block at the wall. It hit the tool rack, knocking a row of chisels off their hooks. Everything fell onto the workbench with a crash that wasn't nearly satisfying enough. Despite the protest from his injuries, he looked around for something else to throw, and snatched up another sanding block. That one took out two of the glass jars he kept small hardware in, and a rain of screws, nails and broken glass clattered down onto the bench and spilled to the floor. He grabbed a piece of scrap wood he'd been using with his clamps and was on the backswing toward smashing the rest of the jars when a shout from behind stopped him.

"Jethro!" He spun toward the voice and the two by four passed within inches of Hollis' head as she jerked back out of the way. She brought her hands up and grabbed the board as it arced, wrenching it out of Gibbs' hand and throwing it to the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. His eyes went wide as he realized what he'd almost done.

"God, Holly, are you alright? I didn't know…" She saw a flash of fear in his eyes and took his upper arm in one hand, his face in the other.

"It's alright, Jethro. You missed. It's alright." He rapidly looked her up and down, as if to confirm he'd really not hit her.

"It's alright," she repeated calmly. "You didn't know I was here. You weren't trying to hit me. It's alright."

"God," Gibbs repeated, and reached for her. Hollis moved into his grasp, leaning carefully against his body, letting him put his arm around her and hold her close.

"It's alright, it's okay," she murmured. She could feel him trembling slightly and she rubbed his back soothingly. Gibbs rested his chin on her shoulder and held her as tightly as he could manage. After a minute, he straightened.

"I'm sorry, Holly," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"It's alright. I'm just glad my reflexes are faster than yours," she said. "At the moment, anyway," she added with a smile. He surprised her by grunting in amusement. He looked around at the mess he'd caused and shook his head.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he repeated her question of himself. "Watch your feet," he said then, noticing she was barefoot. They weren't standing close enough to the hardware and broken glass that she had already stepped in it, but there were bits scattered around the basement.

"Come on, Roger. Back to bed," she said and turned him toward the stairs.

"Roger?" he asked. She stepped carefully around and over the mess.

"Yeah. As in Clemens. Can't say I much appreciate your swing, but your pitch is impressive."

They moved up to the bedroom together. When they were again lying side by side on Gibbs' bed in the dark, it was Gibbs who broke the silence.

"I really am sorry, Hollis."

"Wow, twice in one night. I should write this down," she said, and rolled up onto her elbow to look down at him. He frowned.

"I could have hurt you," he said.

"But you didn't. I should know better than to sneak up on you like that." She waited a beat. "What were you thinking, anyway?"

Gibbs took several breaths. Hollis thought he was going to ignore her question, then he spoke.

"I wanted to work on the boat. But it hurt too much."

Hollis heard such sorrow in his voice, all out of proportion to the problem, and she wondered why.

"It'll be better in a couple days," Hollis said softly. She put her head on the pillow and laid her hand over the bruises on his chest. The skin there was warmer than the rest of him. She could feel the healing. Gibbs put his own hand over hers and stared at the ceiling.

"Tell me?" she asked after several minutes had passed in silence. "Please?" she added. There was nothing for a ten count, then:

"It feels good," he said, "to work with my hands. It's how I relax, how I get away. I can think, or not." Gibbs paused. "It's the only thing I have complete control over. Always. He took that away from me."

"For a day or two," she interjected. His fingers flexed against hers, a slight squeeze.

"I needed it tonight. We know who that bastard is, we have positive identification from Abby and three of the rape victims. Yet he's still sleeping in his own bed. I can't let that go. I went downstairs to try and clear my head, and then… I couldn't. It pissed me off."

Hollis was silent. It was more than she had ever imagined he'd give her. She had known the boat was important to him. She'd had no idea how much.

"In the morning, when McGee gets the warrant, they'll pick him up and you can help him see the error of his ways," Hollis said when she thought she could speak without betraying her emotion.

"Damn straight I will. Only the arrest is mine," Gibbs said sharply. "I'm not about to let this get screwed up." Hollis withdrew her hand from his chest and used it to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear.

"Jethro, they're not going to screw it up. They're good people, and you've trained them well," Hollis said.

"This is personal." She wasn't sure how to respond to that. She let her eyes wander over his face while she considered her next move. He hadn't shaved now in almost 48 hours and the stubble was thick. Hollis had wondered what he would look like with facial hair. She didn't think she liked it. She put one finger back on his chest and without warning pushed sharply against the center of his sternum. He grunted and flinched away, frowning at her.

"What would you do, Gunny, if one of your people was injured as badly as this and still showed up for work? Especially with the level of narcotics you've got on board?"

"I'd chain his ass to his desk," Gibbs said without hesitation. His voice was hard. "This is one of those 'do not as I do' things. It's one of the luxuries of being in charge. Of which you are certainly familiar, Lieutenant Colonel."

"I am familiar. But I would not allow myself to become a liability to my team," Hollis said. "If you go with them on this thing, their focus is going to be split. Hell, DiNozzo's liable to get himself shot making sure you don't fall over."

"DiNozzo doesn't need to babysit me," Gibbs stated. There was real anger in his voice now.

"No, but he'll do it anyway. Which will put your people at risk. Are you really that desperate to prove yourself that you'd risk their lives?"

He clenched his jaw and did not respond. Hollis didn't understand what had just happened. He'd been open, sharing, letting her in. Then suddenly he'd slammed the door. Now he was staring at her, obviously pissed, a challenge clear on his face. She held his stare for a long second, then broke away and turned onto her other side away from him. She could hear him behind her, breathing heavier than normal.

It took a few minutes for him to get it under control, then another passed before she felt his fingers on her back, over her hip, reaching for her arm. She rolled onto her back and let him take her hand. He pulled it up to his face and kissed her knuckles, then intertwined their fingers and rested their joined hands on her belly. No more words passed between them the rest of the night.

* * *

Friday started out well enough. Tony and Ziva followed Wilson from his house to the airport. DiNozzo called Gibbs to report, and Gibbs told them to stay on him. McGee contacted legal as soon as they opened in the morning and laid out the evidence they had against Wilson for Abby's attack. He left out any mention of the rapes: they could add those charges later. Legal approved the arrest warrant application, and an hour later, they had it.

Gibbs and Hollis Mann went to the Navy Yard. When she'd seen Gibbs dressing for work, she'd asked him if he was still planning on running the arrest. He told her he was, but from MTAC, not from the field. She was pleased, but only nodded. There was no need to rub his nose in it.

On the way in, Gibbs drank more coffee and took more pain meds. The pain was a moderate ache as long as he kept still. But he'd tried rolling his shoulder under the hot water in the shower and had to bite his tongue to stifle a cry of pain. If he was going to be moving around, he was going to need some help.

When they arrived, Gibbs gently blew off everyone who expressed sympathy over his arm. It would be fine, thanks for asking. He spent some time at his desk trying to figure out how to proceed. Because there was no one else there, he bounced some ideas off Hollis, and she provided as much input as she thought he'd accept.

They came up with a reasonable plan. Gibbs called McGee and asked if Abby was up to coming down to the office for a few hours. When McGee asked why, Gibbs told him he was needed. McGee consulted with Abby off the phone and said they'd be in within the hour.

While they waited, Gibbs and Hollis walked over to the barber shop on the Navy Yard. It was nice to be outside and the breeze off the Anacostia was refreshing. Fred, the owner of the shop, had been cutting the hair of Marines and sailors for three generations. He'd been Gibbs' barber for 15 years. Fred, too, clucked over Gibbs' shoulder, then proceeded to give him an old-fashioned straight razor shave. Gibbs let him trim his hair while he was at it. Being clean-shaven made Gibbs feel better, like he had regained another small measure of his control.

McGee arrived with Abby in tow. She was walking better, but still couldn't fully straighten up. She'd brought along the teddy bear and kept it pressed against her broken rib as she walked. Gibbs gave her a kiss, then turned her over to Ducky for the morning.

Gibbs had McGee pull up the plans for the helicopter hangar from Manassas Public Works. The hangar had fold-back doors on the front, a man-door in the opposite corner tot eh rear, and a small office off to the right with two doors: one from the outside, and one from inside the hangar. There was a small parking area with five spaces near the office door, and a larger fenced-in lot to the rear of the hangar. Gibbs figured that was for employees and long-term parking. The GPS unit showed that was where Wilson's truck was.

Gibbs got Ziva and Tony on the speakerphone and with McGee listening in on his end, outlined the plan he'd come up with. McGee – the only face on the team still unfamiliar to Wilson – would wear a surveillance unit broadcasting back to MTAC and do the initial approach. He would identify himself as an insurance adjuster, representing another driver who claimed Wilson's Suburban had sideswiped him and run him off the road a few days before. Wilson would undoubtedly deny it. McGee would tell Wilson there would be damage to the truck if it was true, and simple viewing of the vehicle would clear up the confusion. Knowing there was no damage to the truck, Wilson shouldn't give McGee any trouble about showing it to him.

Meanwhile, Tony and Ziva would take up positions outside the hangar and out of sight. When McGee and Wilson came out, they would arrest him. Hopefully, Wilson would see the three against one odds and go peacefully. It worked sometimes.

Everyone agreed it was a workable plan. Gibbs told the agents at the airport that McGee would be along shortly, and sent McGee to get the surveillance unit while he coordinated with MTAC. They had time available for the op at 10:30.

The appointed time came. With Hollis behind him in the gallery, Gibbs watched on the big screen in MTAC as McGee did a video check and they all did radio checks. When they were ready, Gibbs gave the go and watched as McGee drove the sedan through the public entrance and across to the charter service. He parked in the smaller lot and entered the office.

Which was when it all went to hell. Wilson wasn't here, the receptionist informed him. Was he coming back? McGee asked. Nope. He'd gone home sick, about an hour after he got to work.

McGee thanked her, declined to leave a message, and exited. Gibbs demanded that they confirm Wilson's truck was still in the back lot. McGee hurried around the building to visually confirm what the GPS was saying and discovered the truck gone. The GPS unit was stuck to the concrete bumper the truck had been parked against.

"Damn it!" Gibbs cursed. He thought for a minute. McGee's surveillance unit showed Tony and Ziva running up to him. They were waiting for instructions.

"DiNozzo, David, go sit on the house. McGee, see if his boss has got a home address on him. Then check with airport security: he probably needed to register the license number on the truck when they gave him the gate access code."

"And if we can find either one, we've got probable cause to hit the house," McGee said. "On it, boss."

"Call me when you get the information." He ripped off the headset. A moment later, McGee turned off the video and the screen went to color bars.

"Son of a bitch!" Gibbs shouted. He thrust the headset into the technician's outstretched hand and stormed out of the room. Hollis took a second, then followed. She stepped out of MTAC to see Gibbs striding across the squadroom below. Not sure where he was going, she hurried to try and catch him. He got on the elevator, and she started to run.

"Agent Gibbs, wait!" she called, but the doors closed before she could reach them. She slapped the call button to try and get them to open again. Nothing.

"Where's the stairs?" she asked the nearest person who had looked up in response to her shout.

"That way," the man indicated. "But you won't need them."

"What?" Hollis asked.

"He's probably not going anywhere," he said.

"What do you mean?" Hollis asked. She was poised to head for the stairs, but sensed she might miss something.

"When he's that pissed, he doesn't usually go anywhere. He either gets his frustration out yelling at his team, or he beats up the elevator."

Hollis was confused, but before she could ask, there was a dull thumping sound from the direction of the elevator doors.

"See?" the agent said. "He'll come out when he calms down a little. Just wait for him."

Hollis pressed her ear to the closed doors. He could hear Jethro's voice, no words, just the tone, interspersed with several more thumps.

With a sigh, she retreated to Gibbs' desk. Hollis briefly considered going up to tell Director Shepard what had happened. But she figured that would really piss him off. He'd report to the Director when he was ready.

Five minutes later, the elevator dinged and Gibbs emerged. He saw Hollis at his desk and hiked his thumb toward McGee's. She got out of the way. Gibbs dropped into his chair. He put his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in his hand. Hollis sat at McGee's desk and watched him. His eyes were on middle distance, staring at nothing.

"We should have taken him last night," Gibbs said finally and straightened up. He scratched at his chest through his shirt.

"You didn't have probable cause," Hollis reminded him.

"We knew it was him," Gibbs said.

"And if you'd picked him up last night, his lawyer would already have him back on the street, and you'd never have been able to use anything you have."

"I don't care!" Gibbs said loudly and bounced his fist off his desk. "By then I'd have had my turn with him."

"You don't mean that," Hollis stated. Gibbs stared at her, his eyes narrowed.

"The hell I don't," Gibbs said under his breath and looked away.

"Agent Gibbs, what are you doing here?" Gibbs looked to see Jenny coming down the stairs.

"Director," Gibbs said.

"Lt. Col. Mann," Jenny greeted her. "Not working today?"

"Playing chauffer," Hollis said. Jenny stopped in front of Gibbs' desk.

"Good, because Agent Gibbs needs a ride home." Gibbs looked up at Jenny with a frown.

"No, I don't," Gibbs said.

"Why are you here?" Jenny asked, avoiding the argument for the moment.

"We just tried to arrest Abby's attacker."

"You missed him?" Jenny asked.

"He made the tail, sometime after he got to work this morning," Gibbs said. "The GPS unit was still at the airport, but his truck was gone."

"Did he go home?"

"DiNozzo and David are headed there now. McGee's trying to get either his address or his plates from the airport."

"So what's the plan?" Jenny asked.

"We're going to find him," Gibbs said.

"Any idea how?"

"Of course," Gibbs said, but didn't elaborate. Jenny shook her head with fond exasperation.

"Stay out of the field?" Jenny said. It was part order, part request, and Gibbs nodded.

"That's the plan."

"Thank you, Jethro," Jenny said. "Lieutenant Colonel." She took her leave and headed back upstairs. Gibbs' cell rang.

"Boss, I got it," McGee said. "His foreman didn't have a physical address, but airport security had the truck's plates. We're good on the house address."

"Good. Get back in here."

"We're going to need to update the warrant for a residence arrest," McGee cautioned.

"I got it. Go." Gibbs hung up then used his desk phone to call the legal department. He gave them Wilson's address and briefly explained how they'd gotten it. Legal told him the warrant would be updated within 15 minutes. Gibbs called DiNozzo, who was still enroute to the house with Ziva. If Wilson was at the house, they'd arrest him. If he wasn't, they'd talk to the owner of the house, if he was home. If neither were there, they'd sit on the house until someone showed up. Meanwhile, Gibbs put out a bulletin to tri-state area law enforcement to be on the lookout for the truck and Wilson, wanted in connection with the attempted murder of two federal agents. That ought to get him some action.

"So what's next?" Hollis asked when Gibbs hung up the phone for the last time.

"Coffee," Gibbs said.

* * *

Gibbs and McGee spent the early part of the afternoon pulling Wilson's financials and phone records, putting a trap and trace on the accounts they could find, and putting together a search warrant request for his house, to include searching for evidence regarding the rapes. The request was tricky because the homeowner likely also lived there, and they had no information to suggest any relation between him and Wilson. Meaning they couldn't search any areas that weren't common to everyone in the house or solely Wilson's. They would have to frame the warrant very particularly, identifying not only the specific evidence they were looking for, but specific places in the house they wanted to search. With McGee busy working Wilson's electronic trail, Gibbs wrote the warrant application himself. His first attempt was rejected by legal as being too broad. He was pissed, as he usually was then the lawyers tried to tell him how to do his job. But he reframed the request a little more specifically and the legal department accepted it. Forty minutes later, they had their warrant. Unfortunately, it was a passive entry warrant, meaning they were not allowed to break in and would have to wait until either Wilson or the homeowner showed up.

When they'd done all they could do from the office, Gibbs sent McGee to the stakeout on Wilson's house with food and coffee. Meanwhile, Gibbs went down to autopsy. Even through the light drug haze, his shoulder was killing him. He asked if there was anything Ducky could do. The medical examiner gave him a lecture about resting, taking care of himself, doing no one any good by suffering this way, etcetera, etcetera, then helped Gibbs strip to the waist and lie out on one of the tables. He noticed the bruises on Gibbs' chest were now marked with dozens of small, shallow scratches. Ducky asked about them, and Gibbs had to think to realize he'd been idly scratching at his chest all day. The hair that had been shaved at the hospital was reappearing, and the stubble was itchy. Ducky 'tsked' at him and gently applied an anti-itch cream. He then packed Gibbs' shoulder and part of his chest in ice. Fifteen minutes later, he removed the ice and applied a heat pad to the same area for another 15. For two hours while Gibbs dozed, Ducky rotated ice and heat until the swelling was virtually gone and the pain was well manageable. He gave Gibbs the tube of cream and sent him on his way.

Wilson did not return to the house that day. When the homeowner Devin Jennings showed up just after 6 p.m., David and DiNozzo knocked on the front door while McGee kept watch on the house from up the street, in case Wilson came home while they were there.

Jennings was happy to talk to them, but said he didn't know much. The second floor of the house had been turned into a separate apartment, Jennings explained. The former foyer was walled off, with two locking doors, one leading to the first floor and another to the stairs. Rick Wilson had been renting the second floor for the past six months. He'd answered a classified ad, and Jennings didn't know much about him. He was quiet, kept to himself, seemed nice enough. Jennings knew he worked at Manassas airport, something mechanical, but he wasn't sure what. He didn't have any idea where Wilson might go when he wasn't at work or at home. He didn't know any of Wilson's friends. As for the truck, Jennings said he'd sold it to Wilson four months ago. He'd given the title transfer paperwork to Wilson, and didn't know Wilson hadn't completed the transfer. Other than that, he couldn't shed any light on his tenant. Jennings had been at work all day and didn't know if Wilson had been home after Jennings himself left for work at 7:30.

When they had all they could get out of him, they presented Jennings with the warrant. It allowed them to search Wilson's bedroom and any common areas of the house that Wilson had access to. Since Jennings insisted Wilson had no access to the lower floor, their search would be limited to the second. Jennings took DiNozzo's card, gave them the key to the door at the bottom of the stairs and went back into his own apartment.

They could immediately see that Wilson had been here after he found the GPS unit. He'd obviously packed in a hurry. Drawers were open, miscellaneous items of clothing strewn about the bedroom, an empty gun case on the bed. A monitor, printer/scanner, keyboard, mouse and speakers were on the desk in a spare room turned into an office. But the computer itself was gone.

Gibbs arrived with Hollis in tow shortly after they started the search. He put on shoe covers and one latex glove and poked around the apartment. Officially, he was part of the search team. In reality, he was only here to get a better sense of the bastard. So he wandered around and watched as DiNozzo and David tore the place apart.

It took them almost three hours to search the two-bedroom apartment. In the bedroom closet, they found the hat Wilson had been wearing on the surveillance tape. In the small junk storage closet they found a plastic milk crate containing drain cleaner, floor stripper, half a dozen small glass bottles and several eyedroppers. Alone, the items were innocuous. Together, they made a kit to produce GHB. The clothes hamper in the bathroom was overflowing with at least a week's worth of dirty clothes: they bagged it all. They took more than 100 samples of hair, fibers and fingerprints. They did not find any weapons, and they did not find any electronics of any kind. They also did not find the usual things that a search of someone's house turned up: No mail, no bills, no address book or journal, no personal phone book. It was like the guy had an aversion to paper. Gibbs figured he'd probably taken it all with him. He'd been pretty smart up to this point, no reason to believe he'd miss that.

Throughout the search, McGee kept in constant contact with them by two-way radio from his vantage point in a car up the street. He saw nothing suspicious. No sign of the truck, no one on foot that could be him. When they finished just before 10 p.m., they left a copy of the warrant on the kitchen table, carted the things they'd collected out to the cars, and locked the door behind themselves.

Gibbs knew that the chances of Wilson returning to the house anytime soon were slim. There was no reason to keep a team on watch around the clock. But they still didn't want to risk missing him if he did return. So McGee contacted tech services back at NCIS and arranged for a motion detection unit to be brought over. The small laser would send an alert to a pager if anyone opened the only door into the apartment. Since McGee lived closest to Woodbridge, he would hold the pager and alert local PD if it went off, then call Gibbs and head over himself.

While McGee stayed at the house to wait for the tech to arrive, DiNozzo, David and Gibbs returned to NCIS with the evidence. They secured everything in the lock-up for Lt. Hanson to deal with in the morning, then Gibbs sent his team home. With McGee theoretically on call, Gibbs decided – after consulting with Hollis – to take Abby to his house for the night. Gibbs was stubborn, but he knew he was in no shape to defend Abby if it came to that. He also knew that Hollis was a crack shot and could match him move for move in self-defense. Gibbs was confident in her ability to protect them both.

On arrival back in the squadroom, Abby was nowhere to be seen. Ducky was gone, the lab was empty. Gibbs called up to Jenny's office. Yes, the Director reported, Abby was there. Leaving Hollis in the squadroom, Gibbs slowly climbed the stairs. It had been one hell of a day and he was whupped. Despite the help from Ducky, the pain had crept back in early in the evening. He'd been taking pain meds every four hours all day. He took an extra pill with the six o'clock dose, then thrown in one extra at the two-hour mark between doses for the rest of the night. It made him feel like he'd had a couple of shots of Jack Daniel's, but that wasn't an altogether bad thing. It pressed the pain down almost to the level it had been with the morphine, which was to say, a moderate ache. He knew it wasn't the best idea to be double-dosing, but if they found the bastard, he wanted to be physically ready to deal with him.

Probably also as a result of the extra medication, he still wasn't in the mood to eat. Hollis had made food runs from the Navy Yard at lunch time and from Wilson's house for a late dinner, but Gibbs had declined both times. He kept the coffee flowing, but even the thought of anything more solid made his stomach dance. Now all he wanted – other than to find Wilson – was to go home and sleep.

Gibbs pushed through the mostly-closed door to Jenny's office and stopped. The office was dim, lit only by Jenny's desk light. Jenny was working on paperwork.

"Sshh," Jenny cautioned as he came through. "She's sleeping." The Director indicated the couch to his left. Abby was laying slightly curled up, one fist under her chin, the other hand clutching the bear to her chest. She'd changed clothes and was wearing oversize black jeans and a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt. A studded belt held the pants up. Bedroom slippers in the shape of Chihuahuas sat next to the couch.

"We took a run to her house this afternoon while you were gone," Jenny said. "She's got a bag with a couple day's clothes in case it takes that long to find Wilson."

"You go alone?" Gibbs asked with narrowed eyes. Jenny smiled and shook her head.

"You worry too much, Jethro," Jenny said. "But no, we didn't. Melvin came with us."

Gibbs nodded. Melvin O'Donnell had been Jenny's driver slash bodyguard for almost two years. He was a good man.

"What'd you find at Wilson's house?" Jenny asked.

"The makings for GHB, the hat he was wearing on the video with Natalie Pharris," Gibbs said. "Plenty of forensics."

"Proof it's the same guy?" Jenny asked. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms up high above her head. Looking at her, Gibbs felt that familiar twinge and was glad Hollis wasn't here.

"Proof enough," Gibbs said. "I'll need Lt. Hanson to come in tomorrow and get to work on processing what we found."

"I'll call her. Anything else interesting?" she asked with a barely-hidden smile. She'd heard his breath hitch when she stretched. At least he hadn't completely forgotten her. Not that she'd done it on purpose or anything.

"Looks like he left in a hurry. And took some kind of handgun with him. He's probably in the wind for now. He'll resurface." Gibbs paused. "Which reminds me. You have my Sig?"

Jenny considered him for a moment. It would do no good to withhold the weapon: Gibbs had enough of an arsenal at home that she figured he was probably already carrying something. But just handing it to him would be a implicit approval of his return to regular duty, which she could not in good conscience allow. As if reading her thoughts, Gibbs spoke.

"I have plenty of other weapons, Jen. But wouldn't you rather I carry the one sanctioned by the agency?"

With a sigh and a small shake of her head, Jenny unlocked her desk drawer and removed his holstered weapon. She held it out to him.

"Be careful?" she asked.

"Always," he responded as he took the gun. He set it on the surface of her desk, unsnapped the holster's strap, palmed the grip and shook it slightly to free the gun from its holster. Holding it a few inches above the desk top – and making sure to keep the barrel pointed away from Jenny – he released the clip, letting it softly fall onto the empty holster. He set the gun aside to pick up the clip and check it, then put the whole thing back together. The process was one he could normally do in about three seconds with both hands. With one it took him ten times that, and just reminded him how much of a disadvantage he was working with. Gibbs tucked the reholstered weapon into his jeans at the small of his back. He couldn't draw it from there, but it would take two hands to thread the holster onto his belt, and he didn't want Jenny to witness any further evidence of his current disability.

Gun away, he turned to look at Abby. "I'm taking her home."

Jenny watched while Gibbs approached the couch. He reached down and gently shook Abby's upturned shoulder.

"Abby," he said softly. She didn't wake. He shook her slightly harder. "Wake up, Abs." She made a small unhappy noise and burrowed deeper into the couch.

"Come on, Abby, time to wake up," he said at normal volume. This time, she did wake, her eyes fluttering then finally focusing on Gibbs' face above her.

"Hey Gibbs," she said. "You're back. Did you get him?"

"Not yet. But now we really do know everything about him. We'll find him. Meanwhile, it's time to go." Gibbs put out a hand and helped her into a sitting position. He felt the pull in his chest and swallowed a groan, but managed to stay on his feet.

"Where we going?" she asked.

"My house," he answered.

"How come?" Using the couch to push off, Abby stood up. She swayed a little.

"You alright?" Gibbs asked. He reached out to steady her.

"It's the pills," she said. "They make me a little fuzzy." Abby's stance was slightly stooped and she braced one hand on her lower back. She held the bear against her chest with the other.

"Yeah, me too," Gibbs said, and smiled at her.

"So how come?" she repeated her question. She stuffed her feet into the slippers.

"McGee needs to sleep," Gibbs said. It was probably what would happen, so it was mostly the truth.

"But what about…" She frowned, then reached up and gently touched his shoulder, still in the immobilizer.

"Don't worry, Colonel Mann will be there too. She'll take care of you."

"Will she take care of you too?" Abby asked with an expression of innocence on her face.

Gibbs thought 'if I'm lucky,' but said nothing. Instead, he turned to Jenny.

"Unless something breaks, I'll see you on Monday," he said as they started toward the door.

"You're supposed to be off work for a week," Jenny reminded him.

"That's what they said," Gibbs said. He heard her exasperated sigh as he pulled the door shut behind himself.

"You really should take some time off, Gibbs," Abby said. She leaned against his good side and he put his arm around her.

"Don't you start, Abs."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," she said. They descended the stairs together.

* * *

To Be Continued...

feedback and reviews welcome, as always.


	21. Chapter 21

**Lying Eyes Part 21**

**by joykatleen**

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* * *

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The weekend seemed to last forever. Having not eaten in more than 36 hours, Gibbs tried plain toast on Saturday morning, and it stayed down. He kept icing and heating his shoulder, liberally applied the muscle rub he normally used on his knees, and took the pain meds every four hours through Saturday and into Sunday. Together they kept the pain mostly at bay, and his brain feeling insulated. That didn't bother him too much: he trusted Hollis to see to their security. What did bother him – what was starting to make him wish he was anywhere but here – was Hollis and Abby and the strange feeling that he was losing control of his own home.

It wasn't that he minded having Abby over. He liked it, actually. She brought an energy to his life that reminded him of days long past. He could never quite be sure what she would do next. She was still hurting, and it made her a little grumpy, but it was still nice having her around.

And there was no doubt he liked having Hollis around. She enjoyed taking care of him, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't really mind it. He hadn't had anyone to take care of him in many years. Lord knows none of his ex-wives had tried to. Of course, he hadn't invited it, either. So having Hollis stay over wasn't bad.

But having both of them over at the same time… he hadn't even thought about the problems that could cause.

First of all, Abby was jealous. He didn't recognize the slight stiffness in her attitude for what it was until mid-day on Saturday. Then, he didn't really understand it and wasn't at all sure what to do about it. His relationship with Abby had nothing to do with his relationship with Hollis. They were on totally different planes. Yet Abby was jealous. Watching and listening to them interact made Gibbs twitch. It was like there was a gorilla in the corner that no one but him could see.

Hollis was surely aware of Abby's feelings, yet she didn't comment, or treat Abby with anything other than friendliness, caring and respect. Abby wasn't exactly being hostile, but she wasn't her usual friendly self. It reminded him of how she'd been the first few months with Ziva.

Besides that, there was the fact that two women were living in his house. It was temporary, but it was still weird. Gibbs kept coming across things that didn't belong to him. Women's things. He'd shared housing with women before: he had been married four times after all. But that had been many years ago, and he'd gotten used to his home as his castle. Having live-in guests was weird, and he was so not in the mood.

Hollis made soup and sandwiches for lunch on Saturday. Gibbs didn't want to eat, but with disapproving looks coming at him from two directions, he tore off bits of meat and cheese and ate a little soup.

In the afternoon, Abby announced she was bored. Gibbs had no television other than the one-channel 14-incher in the basement, no computer, nothing but the boat to keep himself occupied when he was at home. With that option out of the question, Abby decided they should play cards. Gibbs managed a few hands of gin, but he really wasn't in the mood. Lunch had been a bad idea. He announced he was going to lay down, and he was sure he saw a quickly hidden flash of panic in Abby's eyes.

A few minutes after he laid down, Abby came in and sat in the easy chair across from his bed. Gibbs could see something was bothering her, but when he asked, she denied any problem. Would it be alright if she just sat here for awhile? Gibbs agreed, and Abby leaned back in the chair. She was still there when he fell asleep.

Hollis woke them both up for dinner. This time, Gibbs flat refused. He ate more toast and drank more coffee and sat on the back porch to read. After awhile, both women joined him there. The tension was thick. Hollis tried to lighten the mood, but was only partly successful.

Despite regular call-ins to dispatch and McGee, there was no news on Wilson. No sightings from the BOLO, no action on his known accounts, no movement at the house. There was no traffic on his cell phone. The dirtbag had disappeared, at least temporarily. Gibbs had no doubt he would resurface, but the wait was driving him nuts.

Sunday went the same way. By mid-afternoon, Gibbs felt a headache coming on from the tension in the house. He knew from long experience that it would be best if the women could work it out on their own and leave him out of it. Chances were pretty good that if he tried to fix it he would become the common enemy and he was just too tired to deal with that. So he excused himself to his bedroom and closed the door. He removed the immobilizer, took off his shirt to help with the itching, then laid out on the bed with an ice pack on his shoulder and a heating pad nearby. He stared at the ceiling for awhile, willing his cell to ring and report that someone had spotted Wilson. It stayed stubbornly silent.

A light tapping on his door 15 minutes later made him sigh. "Enter!" he called. The door opened and Abby poked her head through.

"Okay to come in?" she asked. He nodded and sat up, the ice pack falling away. Abby took a few steps in, then stopped and stared, her eyes widening in shock and one hand rising to her mouth. He realized she hadn't seen the damage to his chest before this moment and silently swore.

"Gibbs…" she said, her voice an anguished whisper.

"It's alright, Abby. It doesn't hurt much."

She approached the bed, staring intently at him and chewing on her index fingernail. He resisted the urge to hide from her.

"Is that… a handprint?" she asked. She pointed. Gibbs looked down at the knuckle imprint on his chest, then back up at her.

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"What… why?" she asked.

Gibbs sighed. Yet another conversation he'd been hoping to avoid having with her.

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

"You're not fine! Someone hit you! Was it Vic?"

"No." He didn't elaborate.

"Who then?"

"Abby, let it go. It's not important."

"It is important!" Abby objected. "Somebody hit you, hard, more than once. It looks like…" she stopped, took a surprised breath. "It's CPR, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Oh God, Gibbs," she cried.

"It's alright. I don't remember any of it, and it doesn't hardly hurt any more. My heart did stop for awhile because of the drug, but they did CPR, put me on a pacemaker until the drug cleared my system, and everything worked out fine. No heart damage, no lasting effect."

"A pacemaker… is that what happened to your shoulder?" she asked quietly, and once again, Gibbs was reminded how quick this girl's mind really was.

"Yes. But it's alright. It'll all heal, and I'll be back to smacking DiNozzo and intimidating McGee in no time."

"But you could have died!" she said.

"But I didn't."

"But you could have," she insisted.

Gibbs sighed. "Yes, I could have. I could also step out in front of a HumVee on the Navy Yard, get whacked by a drunk driver on the way home from work, slip in the shower and crack my head, or overdose on caffeine. I didn't die, and I'm going to be fine. Let it go, Abby."

She frowned at him, shook her head a little, then her shoulders sank and she seemed to give in.

"Fine," she said dejectedly. Gibbs reached for his discarded shirt.

"Give me a hand?" he asked. She nodded and leaned on the side of the bed to help him pull it on over his bad arm. He shrugged his other arm into the sleeve, then she did the buttons. Her fingers stuttered a little as they closed the buttons over his sternum.

"Thanks," he said, and she smiled a little before stepping back to park herself in the easy chair again. This time, she curled her legs up and sat sideways in the chair, facing him. While he waited for her to speak, he put the heating pad on his shoulder and looked her over. The bruise on her cheek was better. The swelling was gone, and the center of the bruise was starting to yellow. She was sitting easily in the chair and she wasn't carrying the teddy bear, meaning she probably wasn't hurting too badly. Gibbs was glad, even if it was only the drugs. He hated to see her in pain.

"When did Lt. Col. Mann move in here?" Abby asked several minutes later, startling him with the sudden change of topic. Gibbs considered the question and how he should answer it.

"She stays over sometimes," he said.

"She has her own house," Abby said. Her voice and body language showed her to be some combination of mildly curious and downright angry. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why, or where this was going.

"She does," Gibbs said noncommittally. Abby chewed on her fingernail and said nothing. He waited.

"How long have you been sleeping with her?" Abby asked.

"Abby," he said reproachfully. "That's none of your business."

"Do you love her?" Abby asked and for a moment, Gibbs' eyes widened. She would ask that, wouldn't she? And why did she want to know?

"Yes," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"What's wrong, Abby?" he said instead of replying.

"Nothing's wrong. Well, except that I was dating a rapist and I was stupid enough to believe everything he told me. And now he's out there somewhere, and he still wants to kill you and we might never find him."

"You're not stupid, Abs," Gibbs argued, picking the thing most dangerous to Abby's mental health. "He was a damn good liar, and he gave you no reason not to believe him."

Abby shrugged, and Gibbs stifled a sigh. It was going to take time.

"So why don't you like Lt. Col. Mann?" Gibbs asked.

"I like her. Did she say I didn't like her?" Abby asked a little too quickly.

"No, she didn't say anything. But I can't help but notice you're not your usual self around her, and I wonder why."

Abby sighed. "She's okay. For an Army officer."

"So what's the problem?" Gibbs asked.

She chewed on her fingers some more, all at once very interested in her right thumbnail.

"I worry about you, Gibbs," she said finally. He didn't respond.

"You've been in love before," Abby said, her voice lowering. "Those didn't work out so good."

Gibbs was getting a little uncomfortable with the subject matter. He didn't talk about things like this.

"I know," he said simply.

"You've been happy on your own for a long time. You date women, you have fun, not as much fun as Tony, but enough. You don't get serious with women. Then suddenly she comes along and you're in love again? She's spending nights at your house? Taking care of you? You haven't even known her that long. It's not like you. Why?"

Gibbs narrowed his gaze and focused on Abby. He was trying to read her, to understand not what she was asking, but why she was asking it.

"She's good to me, Abby," Gibbs said.

"So, other people are good to you too. Why her?"

Again, Gibbs considered before speaking.

"Come here," he said, and patted the space on the bed next to himself. She got up slowly and moved over to sit on the bed beside him. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

"You're very special to me, Abs. You know that?" She nodded without looking at him. "You're a really good friend, and I don't have a lot of those. No one is ever going to take your place in my life. Understand?"

"But she's so much more… like you. She's brave and strong. She's good with a gun, she can fight, she can defend herself and protect people. I can't. I couldn't. I didn't fight back."

Gibbs suddenly got it. "Abby, look at me," he said and she turned her head to meet his eyes. "You were attacked by a man half again your size, who made you love him and then threatened to kill me. You didn't fight back because you were trying to protect me. You're so incredibly brave it makes me proud to know you." He hugged her as tightly as he could. "In other situations, when you were the only one at risk, you've fought back, and won. You're one of the toughest girls – women – I know.

"Besides," Gibbs continued, "you're so amazing at what you do I couldn't possibly replace you. With anyone. Ever."

"But you love her," she said quietly.

"And I love you," he said. She looked up at him sharply and he continued with a wry smile. "It's different, Abby. Very, very different."

"I hope so," she said and sighed. "I'm just worried. That's all." She swiped at her eyes.

"And I appreciate that. Hollis is…" he took a breath. "She's no threat to me. I haven't felt quite this way about any woman in a long time. Not since… Well, not in a long time," he finished. Neither of them spoke. And then:

"Will you tell me about Kelly?" she asked softly. Gibbs felt a small stab of pain in his heart for his lost daughter. It was nothing new.

"I will, Abby. But not today, okay?"

"Promise?" she asked and again looked up at him.

"Promise." He kissed the side of her head and she snuggled into him. He held her close and let his mind drift.

He had never felt more proud, and more humble, than the morning his daughter had made her debut appearance. She was wrinkly, and red, and she had absolutely no hair, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Shannon, sweaty and exhausted and barely awake, was a close second.

His mind hit the highlights: The look of wonder Kelly always had in her eyes when she discovered something new. Her squeal of excitement whenever he came home at the end of the day when he was stateside. How much she loved to ride horses. Her incredible intellect, and her terrific imagination. Her first day of school: she hadn't even been afraid. Her first piano recital: the teacher said she had enormous potential. The first time she'd been old enough to greet him coming home from a deployment: She'd grabbed him around the legs and hadn't let go for an hour. And over it all, her love of life that always shone through.

When he received a satellite call in Kuwait the day Shannon had witnessed the Marine's murder in Oceanside, Gibbs had been calm and in control. She had already given her statement to what was then the Naval Investigative Service. She had already volunteered to testify against the drug dealer who had taken the life of one of her husband's brothers-in-arms. He was proud of her, and only a little worried. He talked to her, then he talked to the NIS agent in charge of the investigation. It would be a quick trial, within six months, the agent was certain. Shannon's testimony was key and therefore, she and Kelly would be under NIS protection until the trial. As much as Gibbs wanted to be there, he couldn't. He had brothers in harms' way, there were innocent people being slaughtered by a brutal dictatorship, and he had to work. He would trust the agents to take care of his girls. Shannon said she understood.

Then, four months later, the call to his CO's tent. They were dead. Both of them. Sorry, Jethro. The memory, as always, caused a hitch in his breath.

"What?" Abby asked from beside him.

"Nothing," Gibbs answered and squeezed her shoulders. It had been – and still remained – the most horrific day of his life. Though the day Kate was killed standing right next to him was a close second. That day, the day in Kuwait when he truly believed his life had come to an end, he hadn't even made it back to his own barracks before the mortar attack began and he was caught in the blast. He stayed in a coma as long as he could, his subconscious mind trying desperately to keep him from the horror. But eventually, he had to wake.

"I didn't have the flu," Abby suddenly said into the silence.

"I know," Gibbs replied, shaking away the memories with an effort. She nodded a little, like she knew that he'd known.

"He came over that night, the night before I called in sick. He'd been drinking. It was late. He knocked and knocked, and kept talking to me through the door. He wouldn't go away. I thought my neighbors might call the police. So I let him in."

She stopped, and Gibbs waited. One of Abby's pigtails was resting against his hand where he was holding her shoulder, and he turned his hand to twist the hair through his fingers.

"I wasn't really afraid of him. I mean, he was scary, but he'd only hit me once. I didn't think he'd…" she stopped again.

"He wanted to… he tried to get me to… I said no. He got mad. He said I didn't want to sleep with him because I was sleeping with you. With you! I told him he was crazy. I mean, come on. There's no way I would sleep with you, Gibbs."

Abby suddenly seemed to realize what she was saying, and she turned to meet his eye. There was an embarrassed smile on her face.

"Not that you're not a really fine looking man, I mean, you are, and I'm sure you're great in bed, you have no trouble finding women, and now Lt. Col. Mann…"

"You can stop, Abby. I know what you meant," Gibbs said, suppressing a grin.

"Sorry," she said, still smiling. She looked away from him again. "Anyway, I told him to leave. That there was no way I was ever sleeping with him again. He tried to grab me. I ran into the bedroom. I got to the phone to call for help, but he snatched it away from me. Then he hit me with it in his hand. Right here." She used the tips of her fingers to brush gently against the upper part of her left breast. "It really hurt, took my breath away. I fell back onto the bed, and he punched me again. By the time he left, my whole chest, and my stomach… It was bad."

Her voice had softened at the end, to where Gibbs had to strain to hear her.

"He didn't force you to…" Gibbs asked quietly. She shook her head.

"Not me. I guess he went and found someone else to rape."

She fell silent again, and he let her work through it. He knew it was too soon for platitudes about that.

"I couldn't come in to work. Even if I wasn't hurting so bad, if I could have acted normal, you would have known." She caught her little fingertip between her teeth. "You would have noticed, right?"

"I knew something was wrong, even over the phone," Gibbs answered. He forced back his own feelings of guilt at not having realized sooner that she was in trouble.

"It took a long time for the swelling to go down. Way longer than I thought."

She seemed to stall then. He waited.

"I didn't want you to touch me. When I came back. Part of it was I was still hurting. But there was more to it than that."

"You were scared. Someone you thought loved you had hurt you. It made you wonder if other people who loved you might do the same thing."

"But you wouldn't hurt me. I know that."

"You know that in your heart. But sometimes the knowledge in our brains get in the way of the truth in our hearts."

Abby looked up at him again, surprised. "Wow, Gibbs, that was deep."

Gibbs chuckled a little. "I'm more than just a fine-looking man, Abby." He squeezed her again.

"It was so weird," Abby continued. "It was like I was afraid to come out of the house for awhile. I finally told myself I was being stupid. But not until I ran out of food."

Gibbs silently cursed Wilson for putting that fear into this fearless girl.

"Then when I finally did come back to work, I tried, really hard, to be normal. It was going okay. Then you came down." She sighed. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Not for long," Gibbs said simply. She pulled one of her pig tails around and sucked on the end of it.

"Are you still afraid?" Gibbs asked when she didn't continue. Abby shook her head.

"No. It was more the imaging what might happen than the reality."

"It usually is," Gibbs said.

Abby nodded. "I don't plan on dating any time soon. Twice burned, and all that. But that's alright. Just thinking about what he did, what he could have done to me…" She shivered. "Besides, I'm not going to be in any condition for – as Ducky calls it – 'rigorous interpersonal activity' for quite awhile."

Gibbs mentally shook away that visual. "Did you ever go see a doctor?"

"I did. Not my doctor. I went to a walk-in clinic in Southeast." Gibbs felt his pulse spike a bit. Southeast DC was a haven for drugs and gangs, had the highest crime rate of any city on the Eastern Seaboard – even counting the worst ghettos of New York City – and he wouldn't think of going there without backup. That Abby had gone there alone and while injured… it made him nervous just thinking about it.

"I went Sunday afternoon, before I called you. I was kind of worried because it still hurt after so many days. There's a lot of damage that can be done to a woman's breasts when she suffers a serious impact to the chest." She sounded detached, clinical. He figured she knew what she was talking about.

"It took so long for the swelling to go down, I thought maybe he'd really hurt me. But I didn't want records, you know? So I used an old fake ID I still have, from high school. The doctor knew right away that someone had been hitting me. After they told me no permanent damage was done, the nurse tried to get me to go to a shelter. I told her it was okay, that Vic was gone. He wasn't going to hurt me again."

"But he did," Gibbs said gently.

"He did," Abby agreed. Then: "That's why I couldn't go see Ducky. If that doctor, that stranger, knew right away, then Ducky would know for sure, and he'd tell you, and then you'd do something about it."

"Would that have been bad?" Gibbs asked. He couldn't help himself. Abby sighed a little.

"I know you don't understand."

"Help me understand, Abs," Gibbs said. She didn't answer him right away, and Gibbs didn't push her. She would answer, or not.

After a minute, she pulled her knees up to hug them, snuggled deeper into his side and spoke without looking up.

"It's kind of like having a pit bull for a pet. They're big, and tough-looking and kind of scary; and sweet, and gentle, and loyal as hell. They'll sit and stay and walk on a leash and play ball, lick your face and wrestle with the kids, and be the best friend a person could ever have. But when their people are threatened, they can tear out someone's throat without a second thought. Then you have to put them down." She stopped.

"You take such good care of your people. All of us. Tony, Tim, Ziva, Ducky, the Director, though she likes to pretend she's taking care of you. Even Agent Fornell. Any time any one of us has needed your help, you've been there, and you've taken care of it. You always put your people before yourself. Sometimes you don't even think of yourself at all."

"It's a Marine thing," Gibbs interrupted a bit gruffly. He was uncomfortable with her too-close-to-home assessment.

"Marines are a lot like pit bulls, too," Abby said. "They take care of their people, and they take care of business, whatever it takes. But the problem is always in the aftermath. If I'd told you, that day in the lab, who hurt me, you'd have hunted him down and hurt him. Maybe even killed him."

"Abby," Gibbs denied it with a shake of his head. At the same time, he flashed on his trip to Mexico after Shannon and Kelly. It was exactly what he had done.

"It's true, Gibbs," Abby insisted. "You might not have gone there intending to kill him, but he dared to hurt one of your people, and you'd have been ready to hurt him. Real bad. Then you'd have gotten into trouble. Big trouble."

"You really think my control slips that easily?" Gibbs asked. He kept his tone lightly curious.

"No. Your control doesn't slip. You let it slip," Abby said. "Sometimes without thinking about the consequences. Your sense of loyalty and justice gets in the way of self-preservation. That's a Marine thing, too."

She was absolutely right, and Gibbs didn't even try to argue. He knew what he'd been thinking since his mad dash to the hospital the night Abby was hurt. He knew what he would still do, given a decent chance.

"Anyway, I didn't want to be the cause of you getting fired. Or sent to jail."

Gibbs hugged her again, and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"He sent me the email you found that night, after he hurt me. I was so afraid. He had told me before that he was trained as a sniper. He took that picture, and you didn't know it. I figured if he could get that close with a camera, he could for sure shoot a rifle that far. So I stayed away. And I tried to keep you away. To keep you safe."

Gibbs just held her. Abby sniffled a little, but she wasn't actually crying, for which he was grateful.

"Why did he come back, Abby?" he asked.

"I don't know. He killed Natalie Pharris the night before. He'd been drinking again. If he was raping women because he couldn't have me, maybe he got scared when Natalie died, decided to try me again."

"What exactly happened?"

"It was like I told you. The only thing I lied about was not knowing who it was."

"And about what he said while he was there," Gibbs added.

"Yeah. That."

The silence built between them again. Gibbs would let this go: it wasn't germane to their case. But if Abby wanted to tell him, he would certainly listen.

"He was mean," she said quietly. "Cruel, even. He said terrible things." Abby grabbed her pig tail and put it back in her mouth. She turned slightly to look up at him. "Why do guys use those words?"

Gibbs shrugged and made a face that told her he didn't know. "Only some guys, Abs." She looked back down at her lap.

"He said terrible things about you, too. He wanted to know why I wouldn't sleep with him. Kept demanding I tell him how you were better than him. I told him you were just a friend, but he didn't believe me." She sighed again.

"He was really mad that didn't know who you were. It was like he tried to find out and couldn't. He wanted your name. He said he'd leave me alone if I told him who you were. I didn't. I just curled up into a ball and waited for him to finish. He finally gave up, said he would find out himself and then he would shoot you. For taking me away from him. That's why I wouldn't let McGee call you. I thought he was probably still there, waiting. For you to show up."

Gibbs silently seethed, angry all over again at what Abby had endured in the name of trying to keep him safe. He measured his breathing, trying to force the emotion away. After several minutes of silence, Gibbs realized she was done.

"Abby, do you trust me?" he asked.

"Of course," she said and looked up at him again.

"Then I need you to promise me something.'

"What?"

"Promise me that you'll trust me to do the right thing, and not ever again hide something from me because you're afraid of what I might do."

Abby thought about that.

"Only if you promise me something, too."

"What?"

"When you catch up to Vic, don't kill him."

"Abby," he said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"No, Gibbs. I won't promise unless you do. You can't kill him. I can't have gone through all this…" she gestured to herself, "… only to end up losing you anyway. Promise me that, and I promise I won't ever hide anything from you again. At least, not anything like this."

Gibbs thought about it. He knew this wasn't going to be one of those casual things he could promise now and ignore later. If he promised her this, he was going to have to stick to it.

"When I catch him, I won't kill him unless I have to." When he saw her frown at the qualification, he elaborated. "He'll get the same opportunity to live as any other dirtbag. If he goes after my team, or me, or anyone else, and the only way I can stop him is to kill him, I won't hesitate. Otherwise, he lives. Just like any other dirtbag. That, I promise."

"Okay. Then so do I."

Gibbs leaned down and kissed her head. "Thank you."

* * *

To Be Continued... Reviews and Feedback Welcome


	22. Chapter 22

**Lying Eyes Part 22**

**by joykatleen**

The call from dispatch finally came just after midnight Sunday night. A DC Metro Police officer wrapped up a response to a noise complaint from a resident in Northwest, and pulled into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn to finish his paperwork. As his headlights swept across the lot, he happened to notice a black Suburban with Virginia plates parked all by itself in the back corner of the motel parking lot. He remembered something about a BOLO on a black Suburban connected to the attempted murder of a couple of feds, and ran the plates on a whim. He was surprised as the next guy when a match was made. He alerted his dispatch who alerted NCIS dispatch who called Gibbs on his cell.

Gibbs acted decisively. He instructed Metro to have their officer sit on the car from a distance, and do nothing unless the Suburban tried to leave. He sent DiNozzo and McGee to the motel immediately. They were to try and determine which room the Suburban's driver was in and sit on it until Gibbs got there. Ziva lived closest to him, so he called her to come pick him up.

With his team on the job, Gibbs moved to get dressed. He took off the immobilizer and gently flexed his shoulder. The pain was bad, but not debilitating. He would keep it as still as possible, and he would be fine. He slathered on some muscle rub, transferred his gun to a clip-on holster, finished dressing as quickly as he could, then went downstairs. He started coffee before heading into the living room.

Hollis was sleeping on the couch in the back of the house. They had decided it wouldn't be wise to have both Gibbs and Hollis on the second floor, on the off chance that an attack came. Not that either of them were expecting one: as far as they knew, Wilson didn't know who Gibbs was, much less where he lived. But there was no such thing as being too careful when it came to Abby's safety. He reached to shake her awake and found her looking up at him, her hand on her weapon, though it was still down next to her body.

"Metro cops found Wilson's truck at a motel in Northwest. We're headed there now. I'll call when I know something."

"You're not driving," Hollis said, only partly asking. She sat up.

"Ziva's on the way."

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked. She noticed he was wearing his field jacket, without the immobilizer.

"I won't take the lead. It'll be fine." He kissed her lightly, and was surprised when she deepened it. He went along for a few moments then withdrew.

"I'll be careful," he repeated.

Gibbs filled a large travel mug with coffee and had time to drink half of it before he saw Ziva's headlights flash across the house. He topped off the mug and hurried outside, making sure the front door locked behind him.

At Ziva's usual breakneck pace, they made it to the motel in less than 10 minutes. Ziva drifted to a stop behind Tony's Mustang, which was parked four car-lengths beyond the motel's driveway. They both got out, walking to the driver's side. McGee was sitting in the passenger seat. His Porsche was on the opposite curb, 100 yards down.

"Suburban's parked near the back of the lot," DiNozzo reported. "Metro cop's next to the entrance. There's been no sign of the driver, and the manager doesn't have the truck or anyone matching Wilson's description checking in tonight."

"What about earlier?" Gibbs asked.

"No single males are registered, and only a few couples still here on a Sunday night. All of them have other vehicles registered to the rooms."

Gibbs considered that for a minute.

"What about single females? Dark hair?"

DiNozzo and McGee exchanged glances.

"You don't think he'd grab another girl?" DiNozzo asked. "After he knows we're looking for him?"

"I don't know how stupid this guy is," Gibbs said. "But he's been acting like he's invincible, so he might. Go find out." DiNozzo and McGee got out of the car and headed toward the lobby. Gibbs went over to where the patrol car was parked, Ziva following.

"Evening," the officer said. Gibbs took out his ID and flashed it.

"Gibbs, NCIS. Thanks for calling it in."

"Not a problem. The guy really try to kill a couple of feds?" the officer asked.

"Yes. Nearly succeeded, too."

The officer shook his head. "You going to need some help taking him down?"

"Maybe. Can you stick around?"

"Sure thing. Let me know." Gibbs nodded. DiNozzo came jogging back over, McGee on his heels.

"Manager says a single female checked in about an hour ago. Name's Amanda Stevenson. Matches the description, no vehicle," DiNozzo said. "Says he didn't see a male with her. I convinced him to give us the key." He held up a plastic magnetic stripe pass card.

"Good. Where?" Gibbs asked.

"Room 234, at the back. Second floor, above where the Suburban is parked. Exterior walkway entrance is the only door." He indicated the elevated balcony.

"Let's go." Gibbs started that way.

"Boss, you sure you're up for this?" DiNozzo asked as the team hurried to follow.

"McGee, do the knock," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo, David, flank it. If he comes to the door, take him. If it's the woman, flash your badge, quietly. Don't forget he's armed. She might be there willingly and we do not want this to turn into a hostage situation."

"Where are you going to be, Boss?" McGee asked. They climbed the stairs.

"Right behind you. Ready?" He got nods from all three of them.

They moved down the outside corridor toward the room. The curtains were pulled across the window beyond the door. Ziva passed the door and the window and turned back. She pulled her gun and stood against the wall next to the window, facing the door. DiNozzo leaned his back against the wall between their target door and the one nearer to them. He held his gun up next to his head, muzzle toward the sky. Gibbs stood a few yards down the hall behind DiNozzo, beyond the window of the next room. He held his gun down next to his leg, but didn't lean on anything. His shoulder was bad, but serviceable.

When they were in place, Gibbs nodded and McGee moved past Gibbs and DiNozzo to the door. McGee, like all of them, was wearing his field jacket with the flaps bearing the NCIS logos tucked away and out of sight. He left his weapon holstered under his jacket and did not stand directly in front of the door, but toward the side opposite the hinge. If anyone looked out through the peephole, they would see a man in a plain black jacket, standing slightly off center and looking completely non-threatening. If someone tried to sneak a gun around the door, he would have to show himself before the gun would be at an angle to be a threat to McGee. After one more nod to Gibbs, McGee knocked smartly on the door.

There was no answer, and no sound from within. After 15 seconds, McGee knocked again. "Ms. Stevenson? It's the front desk. There was a problem with your credit card, and we need you to come down to the office."

"Can't it wait until morning?" came back a voice from inside. A male voice. McGee glanced quickly at Ziva. Gibbs adjusted his grip on his gun and saw DiNozzo doing the same.

"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to come down and provide another form of payment," McGee said.

For 30 seconds there was nothing. The agents looked at each other. Then the door opened slightly, held by the security chain.

"Here." A credit card was pushed through the crack.

"Someone has to come down and sign," McGee said.

"Damn it!" the voice said, and the door closed for a second, the chain rattling as it was removed. Ziva pushed off the wall and leveled her gun. McGee drew his gun and took a step back to get out of her line of fire, and DiNozzo moved up closer to the door on his side, pulling out his badge and ID folder as he did. The door opened and Wilson stepped out. He was wearing only a pair of dark slacks.

"Freeze, federal agents," DiNozzo said calmly, holding his gun level in one hand, his badge in the other. Wilson's head whipped in his direction, and he took a step back as if to return to the room.

"Don't," Ziva said from where she'd moved in behind him. Without warning, Wilson spun to his left and raised his elbow, striking out at Ziva. She ducked and kicked at his feet. The blow knocked him off balance but not down. He turned to go after her again.

"Give me a reason, Wilson," Gibbs said loudly from his position outside of the danger zone. Wilson turned to see who had spoken.

"You!" he said, and froze as Gibbs brought his gun up to point it at Wilson's head.

"Come on, try something. Please," Gibbs said. His gun was unwavering. Wilson seemed caught in indecision, then he put up his hands and smiled.

"I'm so sorry, officers. I didn't realize who you were. Is there some problem?"

Gibbs took a step closer, keeping his gun leveled. He remembered what Abby had said about the bastard kicking her to try and get her to tell him Gibbs' name and he spoke succinctly.

"My name is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. And you're under arrest," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo?"

Moving carefully and keeping his gun ready, Tony tucked away his badge and reached behind himself to withdraw his handcuffs.

"Step outside, hands on the rail," Gibbs ordered. Wilson did as instructed. DiNozzo moved in behind him. He made sure Gibbs and McGee had him covered, then holstered his gun and quickly frisked and handcuffed Wilson.

"Gibbs? You should come in here." Ziva's voice from inside the room.

"You got him?" Gibbs asked Tony. DiNozzo took Wilson's elbow in one hand and his cuffed wrists in the other. He pushed his fingers into the nerve on the inside of Wilson's elbow and applied just enough pressure so the bigger man could feel it, then nodded. McGee kept his gun out, but down.

Gibbs holstered his own gun and stepped around them into the room. A young woman was lying on her back on the bed, naked, her hands above her head, her knees bent and legs spread. She was staring at the ceiling. As Gibbs approached the bed, she blinked and sighed, but made no move to cover herself.

"Ms. Stevenson? Can you hear me?" Gibbs asked. She turned her head lazily toward him. He grabbed the sheet at the end of the bed and pulled it over her. She did not acknowledge his action.

"It's alright. You're safe now," Gibbs said. He turned to Ziva. "Get the medics." He felt at her neck: her pulse was strong and steady. Her breathing was a little slow, but not critically.

"Amanda, I'm a federal agent, and we're going to get you to a hospital. You're safe now," Gibbs said. She closed her eyes and her head lolled to the side.

"Keep an eye on her," Gibbs told Ziva. He moved back out onto the balcony.

"You bastard," Gibbs said, and without another word slammed the flat of his right elbow hard into Wilson's jaw. Wilson's head whipped to the side and he fell back against DiNozzo even as Gibbs staggered from the pain that echoed up his arm, across his body and into his left shoulder. He grabbed the rail with his good hand and sagged sideways into it as his knees gave out. He was barely able to stay upright. Wilson regained his own footing and jerked toward Gibbs, but DiNozzo pushed his fingers deep into the nerve at Wilson's elbow and Wilson cried out in pain and stilled.

"Get him out of here," Gibbs said through gritted teeth, and DiNozzo jerked Wilson toward the stairs.

"You okay, Boss?" McGee said as Tony left. Gibbs pulled himself fully upright and leaned against the rail with his eyes closed, trying to push down the pain and the wash of dizziness that had come with it.

"Go with DiNozzo," Gibbs said without looking up. "Get that metro cop to secure him in his unit, then both of you get your gear and start working the room."

"You sure?" McGee asked.

"Go!" Gibbs ordered. McGee holstered his weapon and took off after DiNozzo. Gibbs stood with his head down and his left arm hanging limp at his side. He took short panting breaths. He knew better than to hit a jaw with a fist – good way to break a knuckle – but in his blind rage, he hadn't even considered this pain.

It took longer than he would have liked before he felt strong enough to let go of the rail and straighten. He blinked a couple of times, clearing his head, and moved back into the room.

Ziva already had gloves on and was going through the woman's purse. She'd rolled the victim into the so-called 'recovery position': on her left side with head turned down, left arm up under her head, right arm down beside her, right leg bent to keep her that way. The bed sheet covered her to the neck.

"She's a Naval Officer, Gibbs," Ziva said when she saw him come back in. She did a double take and frowned. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"Fine."

Ziva stared at him and shook her head. "Lieutenant Junior Grade," she said of the woman on the bed. "Apprentice with JAG."

"We've got him," Gibbs said with a note of satisfaction in his voice. The fact that Wilson had been caught red-handed with a victim who happened to be in the Navy meant there wouldn't be any jurisdictional issues over NCIS keeping him in their custody.

The medics arrived and quickly assessed the woman. They reacted to Gibbs' announcement that she'd probably been drugged with GHB by putting her on oxygen and rushing her out to their ambulance. After they left, Gibbs called for a crime scene unit to be brought over from NCIS. While they waited, he called Hollis' cell.

"We got him," he said without preamble when she picked up.

"That's fantastic. Everyone alright?"

"Everyone except the Lieutenant JG he was in the process of raping."

"God, Jethro, I'm sorry."

"Wake Abby up, tell her we found him," Gibbs said. "She needs to know."

"I will. Are you coming home?"

"Soon."

"Are you going to interrogate him tonight?" Hollis asked.

"No. There's no hurry."

"Good. I'll see you when you get home. I'll be upstairs."

Gibbs heard the smile in her voice. He reached for an answer and decided he didn't have one. So he went with what he felt; what he knew she would want to hear.

"I love you." He closed the phone before she had a chance to respond.

Gibbs supervised while his team worked the room with the limited evidence gathering supplies they carried in their backpacks and personal vehicles. They'd caught Wilson with the victim, but they still needed to be sure the evidence told the story. Any number of things could go wrong from this point and hold up a conviction. Every piece of evidence they gathered would be one more point toward a win.

When McGee found the keys to Wilson's truck, he and Gibbs went down to search it. They could do that without a warrant and call it an 'inventory' search prior to towing the car. McGee started pulling belongings out of the truck and setting them on the hood for Gibbs to poke at. Gibbs was holding his left arm down at his side, trying to keep it relaxed but not having much success. Hitting Wilson had been a bad idea for more than one reason, but it had sure felt good, for a second.

In the back of the truck, McGee found a large green duffel bag. He brought it out and set it next to the front of the truck without opening it. Gibbs tugged at the duffel's zipper, intending to go through it.

"Boss? Take a look at this," McGee called. Gibbs left the bag and walked around to the driver's side. The young agent was leaning over the driver's seat, shining his flashlight on something between that seat and the center console. Looked like the end of a black stick.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked.

"I think it's a collapsible night stick."

"Shoot it," Gibbs said.

McGee handed Gibbs the light. Gibbs unlocked the passenger door and leaned into the truck, shining the light directly down on the item. McGee shot several photos before setting his camera on the roof. He pulled the item out and showed it to Gibbs. It wasn't a nightstick.

"A sap," Gibbs said. "Like the one Ducky thinks was used to beat Natalie Pharris." He tried to get a closer look. No glasses.

"Bring it out," Gibbs said. They met at the front of the truck. McGee held the sap on his gloved palms. Gibbs shone the flashlight on it. "Do you see prints on it?" Gibbs asked. McGee looked at it up close. The grip was textured, impossible to get prints, but there were some potentials on the barrel of the weapon just above the handle, where the tips of the fingers might go when pulling it out.

"Maybe here, and here." McGee pointed.

"Make that the priority. If Lt. Hanson can match the mark on Natalie's body, and find some prints, it's in the bag."

"Got it." He carefully put the sap into a plastic evidence bag.

"Gibbs!" DiNozzo called from above. Gibbs looked up at him.

"We've got something," DiNozzo called. Gibbs climbed the stairs, his body protesting. But the sense that this might all finally be over lighted his step.

"Found it in the pocket of his shirt," DiNozzo said, and pointed at the dresser top. A small glass bottle similar to the ones they'd found in Wilson's storage closet was sitting on an evidence bag. It was virtually empty, a small amount of cloudy fluid in the bottom.

"If she checked in herself, she must have ingested it here," Gibbs said.

"Two glasses, one on the nightstand, empty, lipstick on the rim. Second one in the bathroom half full, partial fifth of whiskey next to it," DiNozzo said.

"So he talked her here from wherever they met, convinced her to rent the room, poured drinks, put the drug in hers, and waited for it to take effect," Gibbs said.

"Why does he rape them?" Ziva asked. "If he's smooth enough to convince them to come this far, why not just talk them into bed?"

"Why does any man rape?" DiNozzo said. "It's the power element. He wants the sex, but it's not good enough if the woman is willing. He wants to be in control, and he can't do that if they make the choice."

"Do you think that is why he went after Abby?" Ziva asked.

"He may have done this before, but Abby rejecting him is what started it this time," Gibbs said, then stopped and looked sharply at her. "You will not repeat that," he ordered.

"She will not hear it from me," Ziva promised.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs said.

"Didn't hear a thing," he agreed.

Gibbs nodded. "What else did you find?"

"Condoms, latex gloves, his clothes and hers, his wallet, her purse."

"Anything to clean up with?" Gibbs asked.

"No. What are you thinking, Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"The other crime scenes were meticulously clean. No prints, few fibers or hairs. No DNA. He's got to be cleaning up."

"Maybe in his truck," Ziva suggested.

"Maybe," Gibbs agreed, thinking of the duffel he hadn't opened.

"He had a bunch of receipts in his wallet," DiNozzo said.

"For what?" Gibbs asked.

"Drinks, mostly. Some appetizers. From a bunch of different bars in the tri-state. All of the bars our victims have come from are there, plus a few more."

Gibbs eyes narrowed. "Do the dates match our crimes?"

"Some do, some don't. I'll compare the dates and times when we get back. There's definitely one from the Red Rocks the night Seaman Pharris was murdered. And one from earlier tonight from a bar in Georgetown."

"Show me," Gibbs demanded. DiNozzo gestured to an unsealed evidence bag sitting on the counter outside the bathroom.

"His wallet was open on the counter with a bunch of cash next to it, like maybe he opened it to see if he had enough to pay for the room when McGee said there was a money problem. Except for tonight's, the receipts were folded up in the cash compartment. I went through them, then refolded them." He picked up the bag and held it out to Gibbs. Gibbs took it and looked close: They were folded with the printing turned in.

"How many altogether?" Gibbs asked.

"Counting tonight's, 19."

"Nineteen? All from different dates?"

"Yes," DiNozzo said.

"We don't have all the victims," Gibbs said.

"That's what I was thinking," DiNozzo agreed.

"Son of a bitch," Gibbs said, then repeated. "God damn son of a bitch!" His grip on the bag tightened and it wrinkled in his fist. For a second, it looked like he was going to crush it, then his hand relaxed and he pushed it back at DiNozzo.

"When the truck gets here, take everything back to the lab. I want every scrap of information you can get before I interrogate this bastard."

"You sure that's…" DiNozzo trailed off at the look on Gibbs' face. "Yes Boss," he said smartly instead. "You want me to arrange for the tow?"

"Take care of it, DiNozzo. I want a report in…" he checked his watch, still on his right wrist. "By noon."

"On it, Boss," DiNozzo said. Gibbs strode out of the room and down the stairs. In the room, Tony and Ziva exchanged looks.

"Where is he going?" Ziva asked.

"Probably putting as much space as possible between himself and Wilson for now. He's really pissed."

"No," Ziva said sarcastically. "I never would have guessed."

DiNozzo growled at her. He stepped out onto the balcony in time to see Gibbs approach Wilson's truck. He spoke briefly to McGee, then moved across the parking lot to the Metro cruiser, which had been joined by another. Gibbs spoke to the officer for a full minute, then walked out to the street, making a phone call as he went.

"Where's he going?" DiNozzo said under his breath. His attention was caught by McGee rapidly putting Wilson's belongings back into the truck. As DiNozzo tried to get his head around what the younger agent was doing, McGee slammed the doors shut and looked up.

"Tony! Catch!" he called, and threw the keys up. They flew above him on a straight track, and Tony caught them on the decent.

"I'm going with Gibbs," McGee said, and turned to hustle after him.

"Where?" DiNozzo shouted.

"I don't know," McGee called back and jogged out to the street.

Gibbs had put his phone away and was leaning back against the passenger side of McGee's Porsche. He had his right hand up under his untucked shirt and was rubbing at his chest. McGee opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it shut. He hurried to unlock the passenger door. Gibbs got in while McGee went around to the driver's side.

"Where are we going, Boss?" he asked when they were both seated.

"Bethesda. I want to check on the victim." McGee nodded and pulled away from the curb. Gibbs sat back and closed his eyes.

The ride was smooth and quiet. When they arrived at the hospital, McGee parked and shut off the engine, surprised when Gibbs didn't immediately undo his seatbelt.

"Boss?" McGee said and lightly touched Gibb's left arm. Gibbs reached around with his right hand, fast, and grabbed McGee's fingers, twisting them hard.

"Gibbs!" McGee said, his voice higher than normal as pain shot up his arm from the nerves Gibbs was pressing.

Gibbs immediately released him and pressed his palm to his forehead. He felt a headache building. Get a grip, he told himself.

"We're here," McGee said. He flexed his fingers.

"You startled me. I must have been asleep," Gibbs said by way of apology.

"You alright, Boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs looked at him long enough to make McGee uncomfortable, then undid his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. McGee followed.

"That's a really nice car, McGee," Gibbs said as they approached the emergency entrance.

"Thanks," McGee said.

"Writing business must pay pretty good," he said. McGee blinked.

"It does," McGee said slowly, a note of suspicion in his voice. He wondered where this was going and was surprised – and more than a little confused – when Gibbs said nothing more.

At the triage desk, Gibbs showed his ID and was directed to a nurses' station inside. The clerk there indicated one of the trauma rooms. When they got there, a nurse was checking Amanda Stevenson's vitals. A doctor was doing paperwork at the back counter. She looked up and smiled at them.

"Special Agent Gibbs. You're supposed to be resting." It was Lynn Bailey.

"How is she?" Gibbs said and moved to the bedside. The young woman was looking at them, a puzzled expression on her face.

"She's going to be fine. She didn't have enough GHB on board to stop her breathing. It's already starting to wear off."

"Do I know you?" Amanda said.

"Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agent McGee. NCIS." Gibbs introduced them. "Do you remember what happened tonight?"

"Sort of. I remember I went out with some friends. I'm with JAG, out of the Navy Yard. My unit was supposed to open a big case tomorrow, but the guy changed his plea to guilty this afternoon. We were celebrating the win. I remember we went to the 'be bar' in Northwest." She concentrated hard.

"I met a guy. He was really nice. I think… I think we decided to go somewhere. I don't remember."

"Can you describe the guy you met?" McGee asked. Gibbs noticed McGee had his PDA out and let him take the lead.

"He was white, dark hair, big, over six feet, built heavy. He had really nice eyes."

McGee nodded and took notes. "What was his name?"

"It was… I don't remember."

"What else do you remember?"

"We were having fun. My friends went somewhere else after awhile. I told them I'd be fine. Did we go somewhere?"

"We found you at the Comfort Inn, near the convention center," McGee said. Amanda looked at him, then shifted her gaze to Gibbs.

"You were there," she said.

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"You… I was…" Her face fell, and her eyes teared up. "Did he… was I raped?"

"No," Dr. Bailey spoke up. Gibbs looked at her, surprised.

"You were not raped, Amanda." Bailey said firmly. "He was probably going to, but he didn't get that far."

"You stopped him?" she asked Gibbs. The tears were falling now.

"If Dr. Bailey says so."

"Thank-you," she said, and began to cry full out. "Thank-you." Gibbs smiled.

"I'm glad we were there." He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat and turned to Dr. Bailey. "Can I see you in the hall?"

The young doctor nodded and they stepped out, leaving McGee with Amanda.

"Tell me," Gibbs said when they were out of earshot of the room.

"No signs of force, no fluids, no indications of sexual activity. We did a rape kit when she first got here, everything appears negative."

"Any signs of assault?" Gibbs asked.

"None. No new bruises, no weapon or ligature marks. Looks like you got to her in time."

"What was the concentration of GHB in her blood?"

"Fairly light. He either didn't use much this time, or he used a weaker mix." Gibbs frowned, trying to remember if Dr. Bailey had ever been told about the rapist they were hunting. As if reading his mind, she continued.

"After Seaman Pharris was killed, Dr. Gelfand talked to the ER staff about the serial case you're working. We've been instructed to keep an eye out for GHB cases, run a rape kit and sample blood for formulation, and notify NCIS. I can assume that if you're here, Lt. Stevenson was another of his victims?"

"His last. We caught him with her at the motel. He's in custody."

Lynn nodded firmly. "Good. Now will you go home and rest?"

Gibbs smiled. "Soon."

Lynn shook her head. "Marines," she said, and went back into the room. Gibbs followed. McGee was standing by the bed looking a little awkward, his PDA away. Amanda was holding a business card in her hand.

"Lt. Stevenson, we're going to go now," Gibbs said. "If you think of anything else, call us. Otherwise, we'll talk to you more later today, okay?"

Amanda nodded, then reached out for him. Gibbs took her hand.

"Thank-you for saving me," she said, and a new round of tears fell.

"You're welcome," Gibbs said with a gentle smile. "You rest." He squeezed her hand.

Back in McGee's car, Gibbs again settled back the leather seat.

"Now where?" McGee asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Take me home," Gibbs said. He reached under his shirt to rub at his chest again. The itch was driving him a little nuts, but scratching it was a good distraction from the pain that hadn't fully receded after he hit Wilson.

For several miles there was silence. McGee was debating with himself, trying to figure out how to start a conversation, when Gibbs beat him to it.

"You have a question, spit it out, McGee," he growled.

"What's the plan, Boss?" he asked.

"The three of you and Lt. Hanson are going to spend the next few hours putting together a report for me to use to get Wilson to confess," Gibbs said.

"What are you going to do?" McGee asked.

"Get him to confess," Gibbs said.

"No, I mean now," McGee clarified.

Gibbs sighed, dropped his hand into his lap, and looked at McGee. "I'm going to sleep, McGee. I need to clear my head before I talk to Wilson."

"That's a good idea," McGee said. He drove for another two miles in silence, his brow furrowed.

"Something else on your mind, Tim?" Gibbs asked. McGee glanced over at Gibbs, who was staring out the passenger window.

"How do you do it?"

"Get him to confess?" Gibbs asked and turned to look at him, eyebrows raising in surprise. McGee had seen Gibbs do it hundreds of times, had even done it himself once or twice.

"No, sit in the same room with him and not want to kill him for what he did."

Gibbs gave a short laugh. "Who says I don't want to kill him?" He paused. "The trick is going to be not doing it."

"So how do you not do it? Knowing what he's done to these women, what he did to Abby. To you and Tony. How do you not kill him? Or at least beat the crap out of him?"

There was undoubtedly an easy, flip answer, but Gibbs didn't give it. McGee was young, still learning, and he deserved honesty.

"You can't let it get personal," Gibbs said. "No matter how personal it is, you tell yourself whatever lies you need to remove yourself from the situation. The victim's just some stranger you read about in the paper. The suspect's not a psycho, he's just a guy who made a mistake, got a little carried away. You make yourself believe it wasn't his fault. It was a reasonable response to what has been done to him. It was nothing personal. It had nothing to do with you or yours."

"And then what?" McGee asked.

"Then you interrogate him, get him to tell his side of the story. And when you get what you want, you smile, you gather up your paperwork, and you walk out the door."

"Do you really think you can do that?" McGee asked.

Gibbs considered it, then shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But that's how you do it."

McGee fell silent again. He was surprised when Gibbs continued a minute later.

"They teach use of force and interrogation guidelines for a reason, and it's not just to make the lawyers happy. If you act on your base desire to kick the crap out of a dirtbag who has killed a child, or raped a woman, or tried to kill you, you always lose. And not just the case, or your job, though you'll probably lose both of those, too. You lose part of what's important to you, of what makes you better than they are. You have self-control. The dirtbags don't."

"So why did you hit him back at the motel?" McGee asked, before he could stop himself.

"Contrary to scuttlebutt, I'm not perfect, McGee," Gibbs said and looked at him with a rare self-depreciating smile. Then he went back to scratching his chest.

* * *

McGee dropped Gibbs off in front of the house. He walked around and let himself in the back door. It was nearly three a.m. The house was quiet. He shook off his jacket, letting it fall off his left arm before tossing it over the kitchen chair. He realized, to his surprise, that he was hungry. The medication in the patch must have decreased enough to stop the effect on his stomach. He was too tired, and too ready to go to bed, to bother making any food, so he poured himself a glass of milk. It went down easy. He poured another, downed it, then climbed the stairs.

He looked in on Abby as he went by the guest room. She was sleeping soundly. It took him a moment to realize what was different now from the other times he'd watched her sleep over the last week: there was a slight smile on her face. She was happy.

With a pleased nod, Gibbs pulled the door shut and continued to his own room. Hollis was also sleeping. He set his gun on the dresser, put his cell on the nightstand charger, then quietly stripped down to his underwear, leaving his clothes where they fell. He pulled back the covers on the empty side and sat down. Hollis opened her eyes and smiled.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Gibbs responded. He slowly lay back on the bed, favoring his shoulder, keeping his head turned so he could see her.

"How's your shoulder?" Hollis asked. She rolled onto her side to face him.

"Manageable," he said. She reached for it, and Gibbs tensed. She saw his motion and hesitated, then gently brushed her fingers over his collarbone and down onto his pecs.

"Your chest is looking better," she said.

"Except for the damn itching, it feels better. Doctor said it would."

"The drugs?"

Gibbs shrugged with one shoulder. "Maybe. I'll know by morning. I won't take any more until after I interview him."

Hollis nodded her understanding. He would want a clear head, regardless of the pain.

"How's the victim?"she asked.

"He didn't rape her. We interrupted him before he got the chance."

Hollis' smile lit up her face. "Jethro, that's great. I'm so glad."

"Me too," Gibbs said. "Nice to be able to get there before someone's life is destroyed."

"So what's next?" she asked.

"The rest of my team is working the details, pulling together reports. I'll go in and interview him this afternoon after they're done."

"Where'd you put him?" She knew NCIS didn't have holding cells.

"I had D.C. Metro bring him to the Navy Yard," Gibbs said. "He's sitting in interrogation, being watched by an agent in the observation room. He'll spend eight hours or so in isolation. He should be a little off balance by the time I get there."

"How will you approach him?" Hollis asked.

"Carefully," he said.

"Will you do it alone?"

"No." But he didn't elaborate, and after a minute, Hollis reached over and traced his jaw with her index finger.

"You want me to put some of that cream on your chest?"

When Gibbs nodded, she climbed out of the bed and padded to his bathroom, returning with the mostly-used tube of anti-itch cream Ducky had given him. She applied it liberally to his chest. He felt the coolness, and the almost instant effect as the itch sensation began to fade. She put the tube on the nightstand and laid out beside him again.

"What time do you want to get up?" she asked.

"Around 10:30, if I can sleep that long."

"I'll wake you up." She moved closer and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. He kissed her back.

"I'm glad you're here," Gibbs said.

"Me too," she smiled.

* * *

To Be Continued... Reviews welcome, as always.


	23. Chapter 23

**Lying Eyes Part 23**

**by joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

Gibbs arrived back at NCIS just before noon. He'd managed to sleep through the rest of the night, and woke hungry. His shoulder was bad, but after putting on enough muscle rub to make Hollis fall into a sneezing fit, it was at least tolerable. He dressed in work clothes, sliding carefully into a sport jacket but leaving his overcoat at home.

Abby had insisted on coming with him to watch the interrogation. She wanted to be there when Wilson admitted what he'd done, and she was certain he would confess. She told Gibbs he was just that good.

Gibbs himself wasn't that certain. He wasn't exactly at his best, and the guy had nothing to gain from admitting what he'd done. But Gibbs desperately wanted him to confess everything so they could avoid a trial. The last thing he wanted was for Abby to have to take the stand and admit to the world she'd been sleeping with a rapist. It would hurt her, badly. So he would do his best, use every trick he knew, and get what he could.

Hollis dropped them both off at the Navy Yard, then went to her own office. Her subordinates had been handling the work load the days she was away, but a new week had begun, and there were things that needed her attention.

Gibbs sent Abby on to the squadroom and went down to autopsy, coffee in hand. He was hoping – probably foolishly – that Ducky would have something to help with his shoulder. He knew it wouldn't be smart to go into interrogation with that vulnerability, especially since Wilson had seen him stagger after Gibbs hit him last night, and had to know something was up.

"Ducky," Gibbs said as he walked through the doors. Ducky was sitting at his desk in his scrubs reading a report. A fresh body was on the far table: an overweight older male, no visible trauma to Gibbs' eye. Ducky's assistant Jimmy Palmer was cleaning the body with a spray nozzle. Ducky turned in his chair.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" he asked Gibbs.

"We got Wilson last night. I'm doing the interrogation."

"Yes, I heard that animal was in custody. Well done, Jethro."

"Wasn't me. Metro cop with good eyes found his truck."

"Well, I'm glad he's here and no longer out there. How's Abby?"

"Relieved and feeling much better. She's here."

"She's not working?" Ducky asked with a frown.

"No. She came in to watch Wilson's interrogation."

"I might buy a ticket to that myself. So what can I do for you?"

"Two things. I need you to keep Abby busy until I'm ready to get started with Wilson. I need to concentrate. Having her looking over my shoulder isn't going to help, and she can't be in her lab while the evidence from last night is being processed."

"I suppose I could take her for tea. It's not like this man needs my immediate attention. Poor fellow passed during a massage at the Army Navy Club yesterday. Too much rich living. You know, I'm surprised your Lt. Col. Mann isn't already on the phone wanting autopsy results."

"Thanks, Ducky, I'd appreciate it," Gibbs interrupted him before he could get too far off topic.

"It'll be my pleasure, I assure you. You said there were two things?" he prompted. Gibbs sipped at his coffee before answering.

"I'm hoping you've got something you can give me to eliminate this pain while I interrogate Wilson," Gibbs said, and touched his shoulder lightly. "Something that won't make me foggy."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jethro. Sometimes pain is a good thing. You could do some serious damage to yourself and not even realize it," Ducky said.

Gibbs shook his head in frustration. He glanced at Palmer and lowered his voice.

"During the arrest last night, he saw me stagger when I used my arm. He knows I'm vulnerable. If I go in there with that weakness, he'll exploit it."

Ducky nodded his understanding. "What are the chances you could let Anthony take the interrogation?"

"About zero," Gibbs said firmly.

Ducky sighed. "When I heard this morning that Wilson was in custody, I had an idea this might come up." He pulled open one of the drawers in his desk and took out a glass vial containing about three ounces of clear fluid.

"I took the liberty of borrowing this from the clinic." He held it up for Gibbs' inspection.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked.

"A local anesthetic used by medics in battle zones to prepare wounded soldiers for field surgery. I can inject it into your shoulder and it will numb the area for an hour, maybe 90 minutes at the most. It will also make your arm virtually useless."

"I can live with that. It's virtually useless now anyway," Gibbs said.

"I'll need to administer it about 10 minutes before you go in," Ducky said. "If you go longer than an hour, I can give you a second dose. But that's it."

"I'll be back. Thanks." He started out, then stopped and turned back.

"If you knew I'd want it, and already had it, why give me a hard time about using it?" Gibbs asked.

"Jethro, someone has to remind you occasionally that you're not invulnerable, and that you can't behave as if you are." Ducky smiled. "Besides, you'd miss it if I didn't."

"Like McGee misses poison ivy," Gibbs muttered, and left Ducky laughing behind him. He headed up to the third floor on the back elevator and went to observation to check in with the agent watching Wilson.

"How was his night, Charlie?" Gibbs asked. The agent was one Gibbs had known for many years, currently on light duties after a car accident had left him with three broken bones in his foot. He had his casted leg up on a chair, a book under a small lamp on the desk, and a mug of coffee beside him. He was casually dressed in a sport shirt and long khaki shorts, with a sneaker on his good foot. Wooden crutches leaned against the wall.

"Hey Gibbs. Mostly he's just been sitting in there," Charlie reported. "He gets up every now and then and paces. About an hour after I got here, he tried to see through the glass. Otherwise, he's kept to himself."

The window between interrogation and the observation room was one-way glass. With the lights on in interrogation and off in the observation room, all the person in interrogation could see was his own reflection. From their side, Gibbs could see Wilson was sitting at the table, his head pillowed on his arms. He was wearing a blue NCIS coverall. Gibbs assumed his pants had been taken as evidence.

"He get any sleep?" Gibbs asked.

"Forbes was on overnight. I got in at 7. Between the two of us, we made sure someone checked on him a couple times an hour, just to make sure he was okay." Charlie grinned.

"Excellent," Gibbs nodded. "Thanks for your help. I'll be ready for him shortly."

"Take your time. I got nowhere to go."

Gibbs headed down the hall and momentarily paused behind the stairs to MTAC to observe his team. The first thing he noticed was Abby sitting at his desk. She was on his computer, and for a split second, Gibbs worried that she might be checking her email. Then he remembered McGee saying he'd set up an automatic forward on her in box, so any mail sent to her would be automatically routed to him and he could intercept anything disturbing.

DiNozzo was leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk, his head against the bookcase behind him. Gibbs couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was asleep. McGee had his head down on his desk, and as Gibbs watched, he adjusted his position. He clearly wasn't asleep. At least not deeply. His eyes moved to Ziva's desk, and at first he didn't see her. Then he noticed her feet sticking out into the walk space between his desk and hers. She was lying on the floor behind and partially under her desk. He had a sudden flashback that made his heart stutter: The last night of Kate's life, he'd found them all this way, right down to Kate lying behind the desk that was now Ziva's.

Shaking the memory away, he checked his watch. It was a few minutes past noon. It didn't surprise him that his people were sleeping in the busy squadroom in the middle of a Monday. They'd been working hard, and when exhaustion set in, it didn't matter how much noise or how many people were around. But now it was show time. He strode into the squadroom.

"I hope this means you've got reports for me?" he said loudly. McGee snapped his head up, DiNozzo kicked several things off his desk pulling his feet down, and there was a thud from under Ziva's desk. McGee was first to recover.

"On your desk, Boss," he said. Gibbs moved behind Abby and noticed a stack of file folders to one side of his computer that hadn't been there on Friday.

"Abby, have you seen Lt. Hanson?" he asked her.

"No," Abby said without looking up from his computer.

"Can you go find her for me? Send her up, then go see Ducky?" he asked. She looked up at him and frowned.

"You just want me out of here, don't you?" she said.

"I need my desk, and Ducky said he wanted to see you," Gibbs said. "Please?"

"Well, since you said please." With only a small wince of pain, she got out of his chair and left. Gibbs took her place. He set his coffee down and looked up.

"McGee, speak," Gibbs said. He noticed Ziva next to him rubbing her head. That must have been what she hit when she sat up under her desk.

McGee started with a quick, concise review of where they were. He listed the evidence they'd gathered, and the holes they'd needed to fill. He laid out the case for how they'd legally identified Wilson.

"We hit the jackpot, Boss," McGee said. "We found a hotel keycard under the visor in the truck. Freemont Inn in Woodbridge. It's where he's been living since Friday. His computer was there, and I found the emails he sent Abby, including the threats on you."

"Conclusive that he sent them?" Gibbs asked. He was taking notes with his right hand, his left hanging beside his chair.

"His computer, his internet account, both password protected. I'd say he'd have to come up with one hell of a story to explain it away. We also found Abby's PDA. His name and number were in the address book, and she'd noted several of their dates in her calendar."

Gibbs nodded and told him to go on. McGee catalogued some of the other incriminating things they'd found in the truck, including a cleanup kit in the duffel bag. The bag on a large hand vacuum had contained hair and fibers that he'd sampled and sent to Lt. Hanson.

Hanson picked it up then. She had appeared in the squadroom a few minutes after Abby left. She told them that the GHB found in the motel room and in Lt. Stevenson's blood did not match that used on the rest of the rape victims, but that it did match the drug found in the juice in Abby's house, and in Gibbs' and DiNozzo's blood. There had been more of that formulation in a mason jar in Wilson's motel room. She theorized that Wilson had either run out of the original batch, or had dumped it in a panic after the death of Seaman Pharris.

The hair and fibers in the vacuum bag matched Wilson and four of the victims, with additional samples from at least a dozen other donors. From the cab of the truck came hair and other DNA that matched Abby and five of their nine victims. Samples taken from Abby's house matched samples from Wilson himself. The tool marks on Natalie Pharris' body were a perfect match to the sap found in Wilson's truck. She noted that two of the multitude of prints in the motel room where they'd found Seaman Pharris were three and four point matches to Wilson. Not enough to prove conclusively that they were his, but a good addition to the pile of circumstantial evidence they had. Altogether, the crime was established forensically for six of the rape victims, plus Abby and Seaman Pharris.

DiNozzo reported that the receipts Wilson had been saving in his wallet matched the nights of all nine rapes, plus eight other nights. He and Ziva had found staff members at two of the bars that didn't match their victims who managed to put Wilson leaving those establishments with dark-haired women, maybe around the dates the receipts represented. The MO was established, and they would work on finding the other victims, but for now, at least they knew the victims were out there.

Best of all, DiNozzo reported that one more of the known victims, another one of the sailors, had picked Wilson out of the photo line-up. That made four victims – two sailors and two civilians – who had positively identified Wilson as the man they'd met at a bar before being raped. It wasn't open and shut, but hopefully it would hold water.

It took half an hour for the team to put together their entire case from start to now. Gibbs was impressed. If the case went to court, the defense attorney would certainly have to earn his paycheck to get Wilson anything less than life.

Still, Gibbs didn't want to go that way, if he could help it. He wanted Wilson to confess, save Abby and the rest of the victims the trauma of having to testify. With the mountain of evidence they had and a little of Gibbs' special magic, he should be able to pull it off. He hoped.

"Good job, all of you," Gibbs said when they were done. "Lt. Hanson, well done. You can go." He dismissed her with a rare smile.

"David, McGee, you'll be in observation. Ziva, take notes. If he doesn't break right away, we might need them."

"Got it," Ziva said.

"McGee, your only job is to be with Abby. She wants to watch the interrogation, and it's probably not going to be pretty. You take care of her, understand?" he asked.

"Count on it, Boss," McGee said seriously.

"Good. We'll start in about 20 minutes. DiNozzo, you're with me." Gibbs got up and tucked his glasses and his notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket. His coffee was empty and he tossed his cup.

They rode down to the main floor and walked outside. Gibbs was silent until they had coffee refills and were headed back to the office.

"I want…" Gibbs paused, then started again. "I need your help, Tony."

"Sure, Boss," Tony said, startled at the vulnerability Gibbs was letting him see. "What can I do?"

"Watch my back," Gibbs said.

"Always do," DiNozzo answered.

"I know. But this is different. He knows about this," Gibbs said, gesturing with his cup toward his bad shoulder. "He saw it when I hit him last night. And we already know he wants to hurt me. If he makes a move, you'll have to stop him."

"Okay," DiNozzo said.

"Also…" Gibbs stopped walking. He took a drink. "I'm not sure I trust myself on this one. Nine rapes, a murder, all that I can put away. But what he did to Abby… I had my one shot last night. Chalk it up to resisting arrest. We can't afford to let this guy get off on brutality allegations."

"I understand," Tony said. "How do you want me to do it?"

"Just watch. You've been working with me long enough, you know what's normal. You know what it looks like when I'm on the verge of losing it. You think it's about to happen, you get involved. Otherwise, be the fly on the wall. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Tony said flatly.

"Good. Thank you." He started walking again.

"Boss?" Tony said.

"What?" Gibbs said.

"Would it be okay if I beat him instead?"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs exclaimed and made a gesture toward smacking Tony's head. Tony grinned.

"Thank you, Boss," he said smartly.

Back inside, Gibbs sent DiNozzo up to the squadroom while he descended to autopsy. Abby and Ducky were sitting on stools on opposite sides of one of the tables, leaning in with their heads close, talking in low tones.

"We're just about ready to start, Abby. Why don't you go up to the squadroom. McGee's waiting for you."

"How come you keep sending me away, Gibbs?" she asked without getting up.

"I'm not sending you away, Abs. You want to watch the interrogation, you need to go see McGee," Gibbs said. She scrunched her eyes and studied him.

"Okay." She got up slowly, bracing her lower back with one hand.

"You doing alright?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm alright. I'll see you upstairs." Her first few steps were tentative, but she loosened up quickly.

After it she left, Gibbs said "It's time, Duck."

"I thought as much," Ducky said. He got up and went to his desk to prepare the anesthetic. "Have a seat on the table," he called back. Gibbs hitched a hip up on the table, then shuffled himself backwards.

Ducky came back. "You'll need to take off your shirt and jacket."

"A hand?" Gibbs asked. Ducky put his supplies down. He helped Gibbs slide the jacket off his shoulders, then removed his shirt. Not surprisingly, Gibbs wasn't wearing an undershirt.

"Alright. This is going to sting a bit," Ducky warned. He used several alcohol swabs to gently clean a spot on the front of Gibbs' shoulder just below his collarbone. He waited a moment for the alcohol to dry, then pressed the needle into his skin. Gibbs winced at the pressure and the poke. He pushed about a quarter of the fluid into Gibbs before pulling the needle and moving to clean another spot. Gibbs hissed as a burning sensation spread out from the injection site.

"Hang on, Jethro. It'll pass," Ducky said. Gibbs nodded and gritted his teeth and groaned under his breath. It felt like liquid fire moving through his veins. Ducky made a second injection on the top of his shoulder.

Altogether, the medical examiner poked Gibbs six times, covering all of the affected muscles. When the burning faded, it was replaced not by numbness as Gibbs had anticipated, but by a total lack of feeling. It was like his shoulder and most of his arm just weren't there anymore.

"Wiggle your fingers," Ducky instructed. There was a pause, maybe two seconds, then his fingers twitched. He concentrated and made a loose fist. The muscles in his forearm jerked, then his arm swung up a few inches.

"Wow," Gibbs said.

"Keep that in mind," Ducky instructed. "There's going to be a time lapse between what your brain tells your arm to do and what it does. You're likely to have only limited gross muscle control, and no fine motor control at all. It would be best if you could avoid trying to do anything with it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Gibbs said. He reached for his shirt and shrugged it back on. Ducky helped him redress.

"Will you be talking to him alone?" Ducky asked. He moved to dispose of the syringe and swabs.

"DiNozzo will be there," Gibbs said.

"Good. When it starts to wear off, you'll feel pins and needles at first. Once that happens, you've got about 30 minutes before the effect is completely gone. If you need it to last longer than that, I can give you a second series."

"About an hour, you said?" Gibbs asked. He slid down off the table.

"Maybe an hour and a half. It's different for everyone."

"Alright. Thanks, Ducky."

"Good luck." Gibbs nodded and headed back upstairs.

* * *

To Be Continued... Reviews welcome as always.


	24. Chapter 24

**Lying Eyes Part 24**

**by joykatleen**

**

* * *

**

Gibbs pushed open the door to interrogation and Wilson jumped slightly, turning to look. For a split second, Gibbs thought he saw anger, then Wilson's face turned impassive. Gibbs could see a line of bruising along the left side of Wilson's jaw where Gibbs had hit him, and his face on that side was significantly swollen. Good. Gibbs set a closed file folder on the table, pulled out the empty chair and sat in it, leaving a gap between himself and the table. DiNozzo moved past him to stand in the corner furthest from both the door and the observation mirror. He folded his arms across his chest and waited. Gibbs focused hard and brought his left forearm up to rest on the table. Not bad.

Wilson looked to DiNozzo, then back at Gibbs. No one spoke. Gibbs put his notebook on the table and sipped at his coffee. He let his gaze pass over Wilson's face several times, but never met his eyes. The silence built.

If there was one thing Gibbs had figured out, it was that for Wilson it was all about being in control. Like DiNozzo said at the motel, it wasn't good enough when women agreed to have sex with Wilson. He had to drug them and force them so it would be his choice, not theirs. When Abby originally said no to dating him, he took up the challenge and decided he would have her anyway. They dated for awhile, she agreed to most of what he wanted, and he got bored. So he started demanding more. Abby recognized the danger and tried to put him off, which pushed his buttons and made him try to regain the control he'd had over the relationship in the beginning. Abby cut him off, blamed it on another man, and he got angry that she dared to defy him. With Abby temporarily out of reach, he went looking for a substitute. He found one in the first rape victim. Still, Abby continued to deny him and ignore him and he couldn't get over that. So he hunted more victims.

Gibbs knew the key here was going to be taking away Wilson's control. If he felt threatened, he might make a mistake, say something he shouldn't. The man was smart, that much was clear, and he wouldn't just up and say it. Gibbs would have to challenge his control, maybe hurt his ego a little, and see what happened.

"Why am I here?" Wilson said suddenly. Gibbs smiled inwardly but kept his face blank. Wilson had flinched first. Excellent.

Gibbs said nothing. He pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and flipped to a clean page in his notebook. He made a meaningless note and out of the corner of his eye saw Wilson trying to see what he was writing.

"Did she say I did something?" Wilson asked. Gibbs looked up at him over his glasses and tipped his head slightly.

"Who?" he asked. He sounded mildly curious, nothing more.

"That girl I was with at the motel. Amanda."

"No," Gibbs said. He made another note.

The silence returned.

"So why am I here?" Wilson asked again. Gibbs slipped his fingers into the file folder and slid out a photo, keeping the rest of the contents hidden. He spun the picture around so it was facing Wilson and pushed it toward him. Wilson looked down at it. The picture was a blow-up of Abby's driver's license photo.

Wilson looked up and Gibbs saw his expression had changed. It was suspicious, calculating. His teeth were clenched, and as Gibbs watched, he adjusted his jaw.

"So that's what this is about," he said. "What did that lying bitch say I did to her?"

Gibbs cocked his head, catching and holding Wilson's eye. He let the insults roll off. If that was how Wilson wanted to play it, that was fine with Gibbs. He said nothing.

"She's just pissed because I found out she was cheating on me and dumped her," Wilson said.

"You dumped her," Gibbs said. "That's not how I heard it."

"Of course not. She probably told you she dumped me."

"I heard she dumped you for a guy more mature, better looking, and better in bed," Gibbs said flatly. Wilson's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He glanced at DiNozzo, who smirked at him. He stared at Tony for a five-count, then swallowed his rage and turned back to Gibbs. Gibbs was writing in his notebook again. He filled the small page and flipped to a clean one.

"Look, my ex-girlfriend's nasty habit of lying is certainly not against the law. What does any of this have to do with NCIS?" he asked.

"You told her you were a Marine," Gibbs said.

"No I didn't," Wilson said.

"A Sergeant, helicopter mechanic on Marine One to be precise."

"No, I didn't," Wilson repeated. "Why would I claim to be one of those pussies?"

Again, Gibbs ignored the cheap shot. "You told her your name was Victor DeLaCruz," Gibbs said.

"So what if I did?" Wilson said.

"Victor DeLaCruz, Marine Sergeant, mechanic with Marine One, local hero. Saved a mother and two kids from an apartment fire last year. You found his name on the website and decided to impersonate him."

"So what if I did?" Wilson repeated. "It's not against the law."

"You don't think impersonating a Marine is against the law?" Gibbs asked curiously.

"Not if I don't claim the authority or use it for financial gain. Then it's just a game. You've never pretended to be someone you're not with a woman?" he challenged.

"Never had to lie to get a girlfriend," Gibbs said.

"Neither do I," Wilson returned.

"So why didn't you want her to know your real name? You have something to hide?" He waited, but Wilson just stared at him. When he decided Wilson wasn't going to continue, Gibbs pushed another picture out of the folder. This one was of Abby's back, the gothic cross tattoo coming to an abrupt end in a mass of purple bruising.

"She must have really pissed you off, dumping you like that," Gibbs said.

Wilson looked at the picture, his expression unchanged.

"Did she say I did that?" he asked. When Gibbs didn't respond, he reached out and pushed the picture away.

"Sure, we got into it a couple times. She has a temper, likes to hit. But I didn't do that."

"You got into it," Gibbs said. Wilson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Look, if Abby's accused me of something, maybe I ought to have a lawyer before I answer any more questions."

"You want a lawyer? We can certainly get you one. But then we have to stop talking, right now. And you won't have another chance to tell your side of it."

"There is no my side of it," Wilson said. "I didn't do that."

"Okay. So you want a lawyer, or you want to keep talking?"

"I don't need a lawyer. But I don't have anything else to say. Whatever happened to Abby, it wasn't my fault.

"Well, I've got a little problem here, Richard. Or is it Dick?" Gibbs asked.

"It's Vic," Wilson said, an edge to his voice.

"I've got a little problem, Richard," Gibbs said. "I've got a sworn statement from Abby Sciuto saying you came to her apartment last Monday night and attacked her without provocation, resulting in serious and life-threatening injuries. I've got another statement from a doctor saying she was beaten at least once before that, and she says that was you too."

"She lies," Wilson said. "I never attacked her. I defended myself when she went after me. That's all. She can be hell on wheels when she wants to be."

"If that's true, how come she's the one with all the bruises?" Gibbs asked in his best 'aw come on now' voice.

"I don't know. Maybe she fell." He paused for a second, then smiled. "I dumped her a month ago, when I found out she was sleeping with you. Maybe you beat her."

Gibbs felt anger boil inside him. He tried to keep his face blank, but something must have shown because Wilson's smile turned smug and he spoke again.

"That's what's going on, isn't it? She works here, and you're her boss. You slept with her, beat her up, and now you're making her blame me to cover your ass. Maybe you even forced her to cheat on me. Maybe you raped her."

Gibbs saw red. He reached out and grabbed the front of Wilson's coverall, yanking him across the table so their faces were inches apart. Wilson yelped in fear and surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw DiNozzo straighten and drop his arms to his sides.

"Watch it, Dick," Gibbs said through clenched teeth. He shoved Wilson back in his seat, letting him go. DiNozzo waited a step from the table. Gibbs took a breath and held up his hand to Tony. Wilson shrugged the jumpsuit back into place, pulling at the neckline. His smug grin had disappeared, replaced by shock.

Gibbs waited a moment for the adrenalin rush to pass. He'd almost done it. He'd almost let Wilson play him into revealing too much too soon. To have this raping bastard accuse him of rape had almost made him hurl the accusation back at him, and Gibbs had barely managed to choke it down. He must be further off his game than he'd thought. He stared at Wilson while he willed himself to calm. GIbbs stretched his neck to the left and right and rolled his shoulders. His left was a few seconds delayed, and Gibbs had to glance at it out of the corner of his eye to be sure it was moving.

When his heart had settled back to a more normal pace and DiNozzo was back in the corner, Gibbs started again. "Maybe you'd like to explain what you were doing in that hotel room tonight."

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked.

"The woman we found in the room had been drugged. She doesn't remember going with you to the hotel," Gibbs said.

"Well she did. She even booked the room herself. Check with the manager."

"We did, and she did. Which doesn't explain how she got drugged."

Wilson considered that. Gibbs could almost see the wheels turning.

"I brought a little something along," he offered, "to enhance the experience for both of us. It was nothing illegal. I asked her if she wanted to try it, and she agreed."

"She agreed," Gibbs said skeptically.

"Yeah. She was pretty adventurous."

"Adventurous like Abby," Gibbs said.

"Better," Wilson said.

"So how come she doesn't remember the adventure?" Gibbs asked.

"It happens," he said with a shrug.

"Does it happen a lot?" Gibbs asked.

Wilson shrugged again, a sly smile appearing. "Sometimes. Doesn't affect the pleasure."

"For who?"

"Either of us. I told you, it enhances the experience. You ought to try it sometime. It can be a hell of a ride. Unless you take too much, of course."

Gibbs let his eyes narrow. Was Wilson taunting him? Gibbs was convinced the bastard had been at Abby's house when Tony was taken away, so he had to know at least one of them had been doped with the GHB. Gibbs wouldn't be surprised if Wilson knew exactly what had happened to both of them.

"So what was this stuff you brought along?" Gibbs asked, pushing aside his thoughts to refocus.

"Made it myself with a recipe I got off the 'net," Wilson said. "Nothing illegal."

"What was in it?"

Wilson smiled at him. "That's my little secret."

"Our lab tech says it was drain cleaner and floor stripper. You know what we call that?"

"Not the foggiest," Wilson said lightly, spreading his hands. Despite his cavalier attitude, Gibbs sensed he wasn't as unconcerned as he appeared.

"Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid," Gibbs said without stumbling.

"What?" Wilson said.

"GHB. The date rape drug."

Wilson fell silent. His face took on a hardness, and he clasped his hands on the table in front of him, interlacing his fingers and whitening his knuckles. Wilson was either pissed or scared. Or maybe both.

"What are you accusing me of?" he asked.

"I'm not accusing you of anything at the moment. But there's some strange coincidences surrounding you and that little something special you cooked up. Agent DiNozzo, would you please explain some of the coincidences to Dick here?"

"My pleasure," DiNozzo said, not straightening from where he was leaning against the wall. As Wilson's attention turned to DiNozzo, Gibbs felt at his shoulder. So far, so good.

"We found a vial of GHB in the motel room you were sharing with Amanda Stevenson, your fingerprints on it. A mason jar full of the same GHB was in the motel room where you've been staying since Friday. Both match the drug in Amanda's blood."

"I told you, I got the recipe off the 'net. It's not illegal."

"Using it to coerce women into having sex is illegal," DiNozzo said.

"We didn't have sex," Wilson said tightly.

"No, but you were planning on it," DiNozzo said. "Would have if we hadn't arrived. Based on the condition we found her in, Amanda certainly was incapable of consenting to anything. That makes it attempted rape."

"She agreed to it!" Wilson said.

"She tells a different story," Gibbs said.

"The last thing she remembers is meeting you at the 'be bar' in Northwest and agreeing to go somewhere a little more private," DiNozzo said.

"She does not remember agreeing to be drugged, and she certainly does not remember agreeing to have sex with you," Gibbs said.

"Well, that's too bad," Wilson said, and rested his hands on the edge of the table top. "She agreed to try the drug. I can't help it if she doesn't remember. She came to that motel with me willingly, she rented the room, and you can't prove otherwise."

Gibbs looked at him. "Not with Amanda we can't."

Wilson looked at him strangely. Gibbs could see him trying to control his emotion. Wilson wasn't sure what Gibbs knew, but he knew there was more.

"So what are you charging me with?" Wilson said. "You just said you can't make a case that I did anything to Amanda. And any case you think you have on me for Abby is contaminated because you've been sleeping with her. So unless you've got something else, I'd like to leave now." He started to stand, his chair sliding back.

"Sit down!" Gibbs roared. Wilson froze, halfway out of his seat. He held Gibbs' glare for a moment, then stood fully upright.

"You going to make me?" Wilson asked.

"If you'd like me to," Gibbs said calmly.

Wilson stayed standing just long enough to convince himself it was his own idea, then he slowly returned to the chair. He left it back away from the table and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What's he, your bodyguard?" Wilson sneered. DiNozzo had again come away from the corner at Gibbs' shout.

"No, he's yours."

Wilson looked between them for a moment and he swallowed. Then he suddenly smiled.

"It doesn't bother you that Abby was seeing you both at the same time? Or were you having a three-way?"

Gibbs heard Tony grunt at that, and glanced over at him. DiNozzo was still standing a few paces from the table, his hands curled into loose fists. The glance told Gibbs Tony was close, but still in control. He returned his gaze to Wilson. He stared at him until Wilson blinked, then nodded like Wilson had given him something.

"Did you ever use GHB with Abby?"

"No. Did she say I did?"

"What about with other women?" Gibbs asked.

"A few," Wilson said. "I told you, it enhances the experience."

"Don't suppose you'd like to provide some names, so we can confirm your story?"

"No," Wilson said.

"How about Jill Sharp. Did you use it with her?" Gibbs asked, naming the civilian victim for whom they had the most convincing case.

"Don't know that name, sorry," Wilson said. But Gibbs could see he wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he was pretending to be. The name had scored a hit.

"Maybe this will help." Gibbs slid another photo out of the folder.

"Who's she?" Wilson asked, trying to maintain a calm façade, but now clearly concerned.

"She's a student at Georgetown University who three weeks ago reported being drugged and raped after meeting a man at a bar who claimed to be a Marine."

"Sorry," Wilson said. "Don't know her. And I'm obviously not a Marine."

"Funny that she picked you out of a photo lineup," Gibbs said. Wilson shook his head.

"Not strange at all. You're obviously trying to make some kind of case against me. I'm sure you've got plenty of witnesses who will swear I was wherever it is you need me to have been in order to set me up."

"So you didn't meet Jill Sharp at Hoyas Nightclub three weeks ago Friday, at about 11 p.m., buy her three drinks, leave with her just before 1 a.m., go with her to the Motel 6 on 16th Avenue where she was drugged and raped?"

The precise detail clearly unnerved him, but Wilson tried to maintain a front. "No." He licked his lips, then looked down to examine his thumbnail.

"We have you on surveillance tape," Gibbs said. Wilson's head jerked up. Score one more for the good guys.

"Coming out of the motel after you left her."

"That's impossible," Wilson said.

"You didn't know they had cameras, did you?"

"They don't!" Wilson said, then snapped his mouth shut.

"And you know that how?" Gibbs asked. This time, Wilson didn't reply.

"So who were you with at Hoyas that night?" Gibbs asked,

"Who says I was there?" Wilson shot back.

"This does." He turned the folder upside down, opened the back flap and removed a photocopy. He flipped it over so Wilson could see the copy of the receipt from that night, taken from Wilson's wallet.

"You bought a total of four drinks, one before you met up with Jill, and three after. See?" He pointed to the line-items.

"This only proves I was there. It doesn't prove who I was with."

"No, we have other evidence that proves that. Where were you Thursday night?"

"Thursday?" Wilson asked. The request clearly surprised him, coming as it did out of left field. "This past Thursday?" Gibbs nodded. "I don't know. I was at home most of the night."

"You didn't go out?"

"Later, yeah. I went out to a club for awhile."

"What club?"

Wilson hesitated. He was obviously trying to figure out what that had to do with anything, and if he should lie or tell the truth.

"Jake's, on the promenade," Wilson finally supplied the truth.

"When did you get there?"

"I don't know, 11:00, around then."

"And when did you leave?"

"About midnight."

"No score?" Gibbs asked, and saw Wilson absorb the hit.

"I went out for a drink. That's all. I wasn't interested in meeting anyone that night. I had to work on Friday."

"Really?" Gibbs asked. "Hm."

Silence again. "So you went to work on Friday?" he asked.

"Yes."

"At Manassas Airport?"

"Yes," Wilson said. If he was surprised Gibbs knew that, he didn't show it.

"What do you do there?"

"You already know that," Wilson said.

"So what's the harm in telling me?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm a flight mechanic."

"Helicopters?"

"Yes."

"Sikorskys?" Gibbs asked, naming the helicopters used by Marine One.

"Bell JetRangers, mostly," Wilson said. "It's a charter service. Most of our customers are businessmen and politicos shuttling between Washington and New York City."

"You fly?"

"I have a pilot's license," Wilson agreed. Gibbs could see him settling. It was exactly what Gibbs was looking for.

"So you fly charters, too?" Gibbs asked.

"No."

"Why not? Must be a better gig than glorified grease monkey," Gibbs said, turning up the heat again. Wilson stiffened.

"I like my job," Wilson said.

"So you never wanted to work as a pilot?" Gibbs said.

"Not really."

"So it didn't bother you when the NYPD kicked you out of the pilot's apprentice program in '98?"

Wilson was silent.

"Or when the State Troopers refused to hire you at all?"

Nothing.

"Or when you were refused admission to the Marine Corps three consecutive years when the country was at war and the Marines were taking just about anyone with a pulse?"

"What do you want?" Wilson asked. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrow. He was close to losing it.

"A long vacation, a raise, peace in the Middle East, bin Laden's head on a stick, free coffee for life," Gibbs rattled off, and DiNozzo snorted a laugh. "But I'd settle for your side of the story."

"What story?" Wilson asked.

Gibbs pushed out two more photos. The file folder was nearly empty now.

"I've got enough evidence to take you to trial for the rapes of Jill Sharp, Megan Paulson, and Heather Macintosh." He touched each photo as he recited their names. "Forensics, eyewitness accounts of people who saw you leave bars with the women, and testimony from the victims themselves. Oh, and did I mention they were all drugged with the same 'recipe' of GHB.

Gibbs let that sit for a moment before continuing. "Problem is, you were right about one thing: Since there was no violence used, it's going to be your word against theirs. Not an impossible task, considering the sheer weight of the evidence. But still, a challenge. So I'm willing to offer you a deal."

Gibbs could almost feel DiNozzo's surprise at that statement. Gibbs didn't deal. He more often than not cursed JAG and civilian lawyers who, instead of fighting to the end on a case they'd built, gave in and cut a deal with the bastards.

"What kind of deal? Not that I'm admitting to anything," Wilson said.

"My job is to protect members of the Navy and Marine Corps and their families from dirtbags like you. These victims, they're not military. Doesn't mean they don't get protection, just means they get it from someone else. Not my job."

Gibbs paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. He was actually trying to put away the pins and needles feeling that had started to come up in his shoulder and arm. He glanced at the clock: it had been a little over an hour since the injections in autopsy.

"This victim, on the other hand, is a friend of mine." He refocused and pointed at the picture of Abby which was still on the table. "Protecting her is my job. So here's the deal: You give me details, right now, about the night you attacked Abby, and I won't charge you with the rapes of these women." The incredulous feeling from the corner increased, and Gibbs glanced that way. Tony's face was almost expressionless. Only because he knew Tony so well could Gibbs see the surprise in the corners of his eyes. His second was shocked, confused, but still trusting.

"But I'd still go to jail," Wilson said.

"Most likely. But sentencing for one domestic assault is a hell of a lot lighter than three date rapes. And you've skated on domestic assault before, so who knows?"

Wilson considered that.

"You'd do that for her?" Wilson asked.

"Yes."

"She really means that much to you?"

"Yes."

There was a thump on the glass behind Gibbs' head. All three men in the room looked that way, startled. They could hear raised voices, words indistinct through the one-way glass. The walls and doors in the interrogation room were sound-proof, but the mirror wasn't. Someone in the observation room was having an argument. Wilson turned back to Gibbs.

"So I tell you what happened that night with Abby, and you don't prosecute me for any role I might have had in what might have happened to these women?"

"Correct," Gibbs said, and there was another thump.

"Fine. I did it. I was provoked, but I did it."

"What exactly did you do? I need the details," Gibbs said.

"She was out somewhere, and I was waiting for her when she came home. We had words, and I pushed her…" He stopped as the voices from the next room grew louder. Gibbs glanced over at Tony and jerked his head slightly toward the window. Tony's eyes narrowed in a question. Gibbs nodded a little. He would be fine. Tony pushed himself out of the corner and slipped out of the room. Gibbs told Wilson to continue.

* * *

McGee, Ziva and Abby were already in the darkened observation room when Gibbs and DiNozzo entered interrogation. They were all silent through the first several minutes. When Wilson accused Abby of lying, and said she'd been the aggressor, Abby's breath caught and McGee took her hand. When Gibbs lost it briefly and grabbed at Wilson's jumpsuit, she gasped and turned to McGee, who reassured her. Gibbs knew what he was doing, McGee told her, and if he lost it, Tony was there.

But when Gibbs started talking deals, it was Abby who lost it.

"No! He can't!" Abby said loudly. "You can't do that!" She hit the window with the flat of her hand.

"Abby, I'm sure he's not really going to let Wilson walk," McGee said.

"But if he promises that in exchange for a confession, he either follows through or he loses the confession. That's the rules!"

"He knows what he is doing," Ziva said.

"What he's doing is trying to keep me from having to go to court at the expense of those women. I won't let him do that." Abby hit the window again, trying to interrupt the interrogation.

"Abby, stop it," McGee said. He caught her arms, and she spun to face him.

"I have to stop him. I won't let him make a deal like that. It can't end well." She was almost yelling now. She pulled away and stepped around him toward the door. Ziva moved in front of her.

"You cannot go in there," Ziva said.

"But Ziva! He's going to sacrifice those women's right to justice just so I don't have to testify. I know why he wants to, but he can't. I have to talk to him."

"Do you not trust him, Abby?" Ziva asked.

"Of course I do."

"Then trust him. He's got a plan," McGee said.

The door behind Abby abruptly opened and Tony appeared.

"What's going on in here?" he demanded in a loud whisper.

"You have to stop him," Abby said. "You can't let him make a deal like that."

"He knows what he's doing, Abs," Tony said.

"Yes, he does. He's making a deal. To protect me."

"Come here," Tony said, taking her arm and pulling her out into the hall. Ziva and McGee followed, pulling the door shut behind them to block out their voices.

"He's not going to let Wilson walk on those rapes," Tony said in a more normal tone. "I'm not sure what he's planning, but you can be sure of that."

"But Tony, you heard him. He told Vic he wouldn't prosecute him if he confessed to hurting me."

"That's what he said," Tony agreed. "And Wilson assumed that means no one would. But Abby, the victims he's named are the three strongest cases with civilian victims we have. JAG doesn't have any jurisdiction over them anyway, except as part of a pattern of behavior. Chances are he's planning on turning them over to the local prosecutors."

Abby thought about that for a second.

"Can he do that?"

"Of course he can do that," Tony said. "He hasn't mentioned any of the Navy victims, or the murder of Natalie Pharris. We could prosecute them as part of our larger case, but with the evidence we have, the civilian prosecutor will do fine, and might even get a better end result."

"So he's not…"

The door to the observation room opened suddenly, and the tech who'd been monitoring the audio and video recording stuck his head out into the hall.

"You guys better get in here," he said urgently. McGee was first back through the door, followed immediately by DiNozzo. Through the glass, they could see Gibbs and Wilson wrestling on the floor. Gibbs had one hand around Wilson's throat, but the bigger man was on top and clearly had the advantage.

"Damn it!" Tony said and ran back to interrogation. He grabbed the door handle, but the door didn't open. He shoved at it.

"It's braced with a chair, Tony," McGee called down the hall. Tony nodded grimly and slammed his shoulder into the door.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	25. Chapter 25

**Lying Eyes Part 25 of 25**

**by joykatleen**

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* * *

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After DiNozzo closed the door to interrogation, Gibbs told Wilson to continue. The story he told was the same as Abby's version at its root, but Wilson told it to put himself in the best light. It was all Abby's fault: she instigated it, she provoked him, he couldn't help it. He didn't mention anything about demanding Gibbs' name, or about the names he called her. Gibbs let him get away with it. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that they had the confession on tape.

"Is that it?" Gibbs asked.

"That's the whole story. So you see how she made me do it."

"If you say so." Gibbs flipped open the file folder and spread out the rest of the contents. Photos of the six other known victims, including Natalie Pharris.

"Now let's talk about these women."

Wilson looked at the photos, then looked up at Gibbs. Gibbs saw the moment Wilson realized he'd been conned.

"You son of a bitch," he said under his breath. Then aloud: "You God-damned son of a whoring bitch."

Which was the only warning Gibbs got before Wilson threw a hard right jab straight at Gibbs' left shoulder. The impact threw Gibbs backwards, tipping his chair over. His head hit the floor, his glasses flying off, and for several seconds he saw stars. The pins and needles that had been in his shoulder exploded across his body. It wasn't pain, exactly, but it wasn't pleasant: It felt like he'd been hit by a line-drive. Dimly he saw Wilson stand up and move past him out of his line of sight. Gibbs struggled to free himself from the chair and get upright. He got as far as his knees, leaning on his good hand, before Wilson reentered his field of vision.

"You wanted to know what I did to Abby? How bout I give you a taste," Wilson growled, and reared back to kick Gibbs. Gibbs turned away from it as much as he could and grunted as he took the hit against his right flank. As Wilson withdrew, Gibbs grabbed a fist full of the bottom of the leg of his jumpsuit near the ankle. Wilson was already off balance, and it was a simple matter – even one handed – for the retired Marine to twist hard and pull Wilson off his feet. The bigger man hit the floor near Gibbs' legs, and Gibbs spun toward him. He swung a hard right of his own at the side of Wilson's head, but Wilson ducked at the last second and the punch just clipped his ear.

Rising quickly to his knees, Wilson grabbed Gibbs' shirt in one fist and used the other to punch Gibbs in the stomach. Gibbs oofed as the breath was knocked out of him. His left arm dangling uselessly at his side, Gibbs grabbed Wilson's throat in his right hand, wrapped his fingers tightly around Wilson's windpipe, and squeezed. He felt the power of muscles and tendons strengthened by years of working with his hands flex and grip. Wilson shoved Gibbs backwards again, landing full out on top of him. Wilson grabbed Gibbs' forearm with both hands and tried to pull it away from his throat. Gibbs held on with all the strength he had. Over Wilson's body, he saw the chair wedged under the door handle. The realization that he was on his own was almost an abstraction.

Abandoning the attempt at making Gibbs let go, Wilson instead went on the attack. He began pummeling Gibbs with punches, even as Wilson's face reddened as he tried to draw a breath through his restricted windpipe. Gibbs took the hits and held on.

There was a sudden crash against the door to interrogation, making both men start. Gibbs took advantage of the moment to shove out against Wilson and roll them both hard until he was on top of the bigger man, Wilson's head pressed against the baseboard of the wall opposite the mirror. He let go of Wilson's throat and hit him with a quick rabbit punch to the temple. It worked just like it was supposed to, ringing Wilson's bell and giving Gibbs the few seconds he needed to force his left forearm up. He laid it across Wilson's throat and leaned down hard.

"You like it rough, huh?" Gibbs said through his teeth and slammed his fist into Wilson's gut, just because he could. Gibbs was breathing hard, and beneath him, Wilson was again fighting for breath. He struggled, punching at Gibbs' sides and trying to throw him off. Gibbs hit him in the temple again and Wilson's arms fell to the ground. Behind him, another crash against the door. Gibbs straightened up part way and moved so he was sitting on Wilson's hips, knees atop Wilson's elbows.

The adrenalin was flowing fast through Gibbs, demanding he to act to put down the threat to his family that Wilson represented. The pins and needles in his shoulder and down his arm had faded under the rush, and the places Wilson had hit him were – for the moment – not even an issue. He knew he was putting a lot of pressure on Wilson's throat, and was close to completely cutting off his air supply. The whistling sound coming with every breath Wilson took told him that, even if he couldn't feel the pressure through the numbness of his arm. It reminded Gibbs of how his own breathing had sounded when he first woke up in the hospital. Which this son-of-a-bitch was also responsible for. Wilson raised a knee behind Gibbs and slammed it into his back, still trying to throw him off. Gibbs punched Wilson in the face, this time connecting hard with his cheek. There was a satisfying sound as Wilson's cheekbone cracked.

Gibbs knew it would only take a few twitches of his arm to crush Wilson's windpipe and kill him. The temptation was huge. He could finish this right now, get justice for Abby, for all the women they knew he'd raped, for all those they didn't know about, and for Tony and himself. He caught and held Wilson's eyes. Volumes of information passed between the two men in seconds.

A final crash against the door, and the chair Wilson had put under the handle skidded across the floor, the door slamming back against the wall.

"Boss!" DiNozzo shouted. Gibbs ignored him, keeping his focus on the man beneath him. Wilson was still struggling, though he was weakening fast. His face was turning purple, his eyes bugging out as he fought to breathe. His hands were grappling ineffectively against Gibb's thighs. DiNozzo sized up the situation and spoke calmly.

"Let him up, Boss, we're here now," he said.

"Get out of here," Gibbs said, not breaking his stare.

"We're not going to do that," DiNozzo said, his voice still calm. He knew Gibbs didn't want witnesses for whatever he was thinking of doing. DiNozzo wasn't about to leave him.

"I said: Leave," Gibbs said, a clear order in his tone. He backed off for just a second, letting Wilson draw a breath, then pressed down again.

"No," DiNozzo said. "None of us are going anywhere." Gibbs tore his gaze away from Wilson to look over his shoulder. DiNozzo, McGee, and David were all in the room, spread in a loose half-circle behind him.

Gibbs shook his head in annoyance, and returned his attention to Wilson. The breath he'd been allowed to take had lessened the bugging out of his eyes, but he was still purple. Just a little more pressure would do it.

"Gibbs!" Another voice. "You have to let him up." Gibbs blinked. No.

"Abby, you shouldn't be here," he said, misery in his voice.

"Please, Gibbs. Let him go," she said. She moved into his line of sight, against the wall to his right.

"You don't understand," Gibbs said, his voice breaking.

"Yes I do," she said, her own voice rough with emotion. "I know you want to kill him. For me, and for all those other women. I wish you could do it. But you can't. And you promised."

There were a few moments tense of silence in the room. Then, with a roar of frustration, Gibbs threw himself backwards away from Wilson. DiNozzo and David stepped in quickly to secure him. For his part, the big man was too busy trying to breathe to resist. Abby approached Gibbs and carefully knelt next to him.

"Thank you," she said softly, and caught him in a hug. Gibbs, still breathing hard, held her like his life depended on it.

* * *

Wilson was taken to the jail ward at Monroe University Hospital to treat and document his injuries. Gibbs refused to go back to Bethesda. Instead, he allowed Ducky to check him out. No significant new injuries, though he'd taken some heavy blows that would hurt like hell by morning, and he'd done his shoulder no good. Ducky gave him an ice pack for the lump on the back of his head, and made him put his arm in a sling, since he'd left the immobilizer at home. Gibbs didn't mind: Once the shot wore off, the pain had returned with a vengeance. He'd taken pain meds, but they hadn't helped that much.

News of the fight had spread fast. Jenny, a member of NCIS's legal department, the on-call District of Columbia prosecutor, and two JAG lawyers had been in a closed-door meeting in the conference room all afternoon. They were going over the case against Wilson and reviewing the recording from interrogation. They would be making the decision about what charges to file against Wilson, and how much damage the fight might have done to their bargaining position.

The Internal Affairs investigation had already begun, preliminary interviews with the members of his team already taking place. He'd told them all, as they hovered around him in autopsy awaiting Ducky's pronouncement on his condition, to tell the whole truth and leave nothing out. He would not allow them to risk their own careers covering for him.

For his part, Gibbs was ambivalent. He knew Abby's intervention had saved his career, but his final actions against Wilson and the words to his team – dutifully recorded for posterity by the interrogation room cameras – would almost certainly result in a black mark in his file and some unpaid time off. He really didn't care about that. He only cared that Wilson was going to get what was coming to him. Right before he'd released Wilson, he'd seen defeat in the bastard's eyes. Wilson had known his life was in Gibbs' hands, and he'd accepted that he was going to pay for what he'd done. Whether they went to trial or made a plea bargain, Wilson wouldn't be free to terrorize women again for a very long time, if ever. And he knew, if he ever did get out, that Gibbs would be waiting for him.

Gibbs was lying on the couch in Jenny's office, the blinds drawn, the door closed, waiting for the meeting with the lawyers to finish. He'd waited at his desk at first, but the stares and whispered comments from his colleagues and the number of people who suddenly found some urgent need to be on the third floor drove him nuts. He was starting to feel like some kind of circus animal: Come see the scary beast. Careful, he bites. With Jenny locked up in the conference room, he figured her office was the only place in the building where he was certain to be left alone. He would have rather gone home, but Jenny had ordered him to stay, and he was inclined to make nice with her. For now.

A tentative knock at the door woke him from a light sleep, but Gibbs ignored it. A moment later, the door slowly pushed open. Abby stuck her head through.

"Hey Abs," he said, and sat up. He felt complaints from several places on his upper body, but they were muted by the pain meds he'd taken. At least the meds had accomplished something. She came in without turning on the light.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. How'd you find me?" He ran a hand over his face, then scratched gently at the back of his head.

"I looked everywhere else," she said.

"Everywhere?"

"Even MTAC and the men's room." She came over and sat beside him.

"And how, exactly, did you look in MTAC? You got a fake security clearance to go with that fake ID?"

She giggled a little. "No. I called up there and pretended to be calling from the SecNav's office looking for you."

"Really?" Gibbs asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yup," she said with a nod and Gibbs shook his head. He ought to know better than to ask.

"So you're not hurt?" she asked hopefully.

"A little bump on my head. Otherwise Ducky says I'm fine," Gibbs reassured her.

Abby twisted her fingers together for a moment before continuing. "Are you going to get into trouble?" she asked.

"Nah," Gibbs said. "Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure? The internal affairs guys already interviewed me about what happened."

"Did you tell them the truth?"

"Yes," she said.

"Did you tell them you asked me to promise not to kill him?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly.

"And did you tell them I promised?"

"Yes."

"Then you did fine. It's evidence that I didn't intend to hurt him."

"Really?" She sounded like she didn't believe him.

"Really." He gently bumped his good shoulder against hers.

"But what if they try to fire you?" Abby asked.

"He hit me first. I was defending myself. They can't fire me for that, Abby," Gibbs assured her.

"They could suspend you or send you off to Antarctica or something," she said.

"They can try. But you know that box of metal Tony has in his desk drawer?"

"Your service medals," Abby said. Gibbs nodded.

"If they try to bother me too much, I'll shake those at them. They've got to be good for something."

She smiled, accustomed by now to his self-depreciation. "So you're not worried?" she asked.

"Nah," he repeated. "It'll be fine."

Another minute passed in silence before Abby spoke again. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" Gibbs asked. He hoped she wasn't going to try and apologize again for any of this mess.

"For distracting you and Tony, in interrogation. I wasn't thinking."

"Yes you were," Gibbs countered. When she looked at him quizzically, he gave her a small smile.

"You were thinking I was offering to let Wilson skate on three rapes just to keep you from having to testify. And you were thinking that wasn't fair to those women, and you had to stop me from sacrificing them on your behalf."

Abby sat stunned for a moment. "Who did you talk to? Tony? McGee? Or was it Ziva?"

"I didn't talk to anyone. " She considered him again, then smiled and shook her head. Of course he would have figured it out.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have," he agreed, a gentle rebuke. Abby sighed.

"But it's alright, Abs. What happened was probably going to happen anyway, had Tony been there or not. He was looking for his chance, and so was I."

"I know. But I'm glad you stopped," she said, then suddenly turned and hugged him tight. Gibbs said nothing.

There were voices from the outer office, and the door opened again. It was Jenny, talking to Cynthia over her shoulder. She took a few steps in, flipped on the light, turned toward the room and stopped short.

"Jethro, Abby," Jenny said, surprised. "What are you doing in here?"

"Borrowing your couch," Gibbs answered.

"I was just leaving," Abby said, and slipped out.

Jenny dumped a stack of files on her desk and moved over to her sidebar. She poured a finger's worth of bourbon into a tumbler, then turned to him.

"Drink?" she offered.

"Head injury," he responded. He glanced at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see it was already nearly 5:30. He must have slept for awhile.

She nodded and tossed back the alcohol.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she set the glass back down.

"Fine," he said automatically. She looked at him critically, then came over and sat on the chair adjacent to the couch.

"Let's try that again. How are you feeling, Jethro?"

He smiled and gave a small head shake.

"I'll probably feel like I got run over by a snow plow by morning. But for now, I'm fine."

"So what happened in there?" she asked.

"You saw the tape," Gibbs said. He leaned back against the couch, staying as casual as he could manage given the situation.

"I did. Now I want to hear it from you."

"He hit me, I subdued him," Gibbs said simply.

"You nearly killed him," Jenny said.

"Yes."

"What stopped you?" Jenny asked.

"Abby," he replied.

Jenny stared at him. "And if she hadn't come in when she did?"

"We'll never know, will we, Director?" he asked with a just-noticeable bite.

She didn't respond. The silence built. Surprisingly, it was Gibbs who broke it.

"So what did the lawyers say?"

"JAG wasn't happy with what you did, but they don't think it's going to hurt our case that much. After all, he'd already made one attempt on your life, and he did make the first move. They feel there's plenty of evidence to take him to trial on the murder and the military rape victims."

Gibbs nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"The DC prosecutor wasn't happy that you promised not to charge him in the three civilian rapes, until legal and JAG pointed out that you very carefully did not promise that no one would charge him, and in fact obliquely hinted that someone else would. Assuming he was read his rights at some point, those cases should be fine, even if the DA decides to prosecute them independently."

"DiNozzo Mirandized him at the motel, and Metro repeated the warning before they transported him here."

"Good. There was a lot of debate about whether to take Abby's case to court or plead him out." Jenny paused, but Gibbs said nothing. "I know how much you hate plea bargains, but I'm pretty sure we'll get some good traction this time. The lawyers are going to meet with Wilson and his attorney in the morning."

"Has he said anything?" Gibbs asked.

"The locals interviewed him briefly. They said he was 'uncooperative'. For now, he's been booked on second-degree murder, two counts attempted murder for you and DiNozzo, six counts of rape, two of battery on the rape victims, one of attempted rape, three counts of assault on a federal agent, two counts of domestic assault, nine counts of making terrorist threats via electronic communication, and several lesser charges including manufacturing and possessing a controlled substance, theft, and burglary." She rattled off the charges like she was reciting the alphabet.

"Burglary?" Gibbs asked.

"It's the old 'entering a dwelling with intent to commit a felony' routine," Jenny said. "When he pushed Abby into her apartment, intending to assault her, it was a technical burglary." She shrugged. "Everything they can throw at him is one more thing to convince him to deal. Like the theft count for Abby's PDA. By itself, it does nothing. But it might add a year."

"What kind of deal are they going to offer him?" Gibbs asked.

"They'll offer a total of 25 to life on all counts as an open. Their low end will be to bring the murder two charge down to involuntary manslaughter with discretionary sentencing and dropping the charges completely for the assault on you in interrogation in exchange for confessions on the military rape victims and all the assaults."

"What about the civilian victims?" he asked.

"If they're happy with the deal he makes with us, DC says they'll take the minimum, to run consecutive. If he doesn't, they'll try make their own deal. He will pay for those, too, Jethro. You played that very well."

Gibbs nodded, accepting the compliment and her assessment of the deals. If his lawyer was worth anything, Wilson wouldn't take the opening offer. But if he agreed to discretionary sentencing and they managed to get him before the right judge, he'd spend at least that amount of time in prison anyway.

"As for you and internal affairs," Jenny continued after a moment. "The initial interviews and the review of the tape all point to self defense, until the last few minutes. But so far, it looks like they're willing to chalk that up to the heat of the moment. You'll probably get three days unpaid at the most, unless Wilson decides to make something of it."

"He won't," Gibbs said. Jenny looked at him strangely.

"I saw it in his eyes," Gibbs explained. When Jenny still appeared confused, he elaborated.

"All the women, even Abby, said he had such nice eyes. After I came face to face with him, I understood what they meant: his eyes were very easy to read. They showed exactly what he was feeling. When he was with them, he was pleased with himself, and his eyes reflected that. The women saw that pleasure and assumed it was because of them. That was the lie. When I had him on the floor, and he knew I could easily kill him, I saw him give in. He was pissed, then he was resigned, and it showed in his eyes."

Gibbs paused, then continued with a note of something hard in his voice. "He won't make something of it because he knows if he does, I'll be back for him."

Jenny watched him, and felt a shiver run down her spine. She'd seen the interrogation tape, watched the last few minutes several times over after everyone else left. What she'd seen right at the end had actually frightened her. She knew Jethro Gibbs was a good man, knew that he was honorable and moral, and was certain that he would never kill someone purely out of revenge. But there'd been something on his face when he was leaning over Wilson, slowly squeezing the life out of him, that told her not only would he do it, but that he might have found pleasure in doing it before…

"Can I go home now?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Yes. Go home. Stay there. I'm putting you on the disabled list for the rest of the week, pending the outcome of the IA investigation. Rest, recover. I'll be in touch."

With a nod, Gibbs pushed himself up off the couch. As he pulled open the door, Jenny spoke once more.

"Between you and me, Jethro, would you have done it? If Abby hadn't stopped you?"

Gibbs paused in the doorway, his back to her, for a long moment.

"Yes," he said finally. "Without a doubt."

He pulled the door shut behind himself, leaving Jenny to stare after him.

* * *

FOOF

...Fade to black...


End file.
